Pride and Prejudice: A Marriage Begins
by scarlettbees
Summary: We follow the story that unfolds immediately after the wedding from the POV of some the original's favorite(and hated) characters, including Darcy, Elizabeth, Caroline Bingley, Georgiana, Charlotte Collins, and Col. Fitzwilliam
1. Part 1

_With this Ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow: In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen._

It was done. She was his. The vows were exchanged before most of their friends and relatives, and Fitzwilliam Darcy proudly slipped the ring on the finger of his bride, inwardly beaming while exercising every muscle in his body not to appear so. He was not Bingley, who stood beside his own lovely bride in the double wedding with a ridiculous grin that revealed all in his heart. Darcy had always envied that quality in Bingley whilst acknowledging he could never, _ever_ share his enthusiasm and approval of all things as he did; but even Darcy had to admit that Charles Bingley and Jane Bennet were truly right for each other. They would light up a room as a couple, and theirs shall be a joyful household full of laughter, and their children should grow up marvelously.

Though Darcy had readily sanctioned being married in a church before God, he was not elated with the sizeable amount of guests in attendance, courtesy of his overzealous and spectacle-loving new mother-in-law. In all honesty, he would have carried Elizabeth off to Gretna Green the moment she accepted him if that were her fervent wish. He was _that_ ready to end his suffering after a year of internal torment, though he should never admit such desperation. The very thought of eloping to Scotland was absurd, after all, and ungentlemanly.

_Had you behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner…_

But even after that lengthy reading from the Book of Common Prayers, even after being addressed by the vicar and the dance of the hands, Darcy was reminded that they were _still_ not married as the couples were asked by the Vicar to kneel down before leading everyone in prayer.

"O Eternal God, Creator and Preserver of all mankind, Giver of all spiritual grace…"

Darcy hardly listened to the prayer, feeling the eyes of all around them. Some of the guests he respected more than others—such as his cousin, Col. Fitzwilliam—while some—such as Bingley's sisters, Caroline and Louisa— only reminded him of the miserable cynic he once was and the life he never realized he hated until he met and fell in love with Elizabeth Bennet, now Elizabeth Darcy. Now?

"…And have declared the same by giving and receiving of a ring, and by joining of hands, I pronounce that they be man and wife together, in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."

_Now_ they were married. _Now_ she was Elizabeth Darcy; but the blasted ceremony bid he remain still another eternity whilst the Vicar added a final blessing and sang a Psalm, followed by another Psalm, then _another_ final blessing…Gretna Green was appearing more to Darcy a much more satisfactory alternative that he wished he had given more thoughtful consideration.

"…Sanctify and bless you, that ye may please him both in body and soul, and live together in holy love unto your lives' end. Amen."

_Amen!_ Darcy took a deep breath and glanced at his bride, squeezing her hand as they headed up the aisle.

He took long strides on their way to the registry, forcing Elizabeth into a jog to stay by his side, her laughter coercing a smile from him wide enough to reveal the two handsome dimples she first noticed upon visiting Netherfield last year when her sister fell ill. She had thought he was laughing at her wild appearance after a three-mile walk in mud to see to poor Jane, but after months of misunderstanding Mr. Darcy's character to her own detriment, Lizzy now understood that those dimples meant a rare and wonderful moment had occurred. She would enjoy the challenge of making them appear as often as possible.

As they signed the registry, Darcy had to keep reminding himself that this was real. This was happening. No longer was he only married to her in his dreams, both waking and sleeping. No attention was paid to everyone applauding the two couples as they made their way out of the church and toward the waiting barouche carriages that would take them to Netherfield for the wedding breakfast.

_Dash all this pomp and circumstance_. As far as he was concerned, Darcy could not start his life, _their_ life, soon enough, and he knew Elizabeth felt the same way. She told him during one of their rare, private walks during the two-month engagement that further tested what was left of his fortitude.

"It is all for Mama," sighed Elizabeth. "Jane and I discussed it, and, much as we are eager for a simple and _immediate_ ceremony…"

Darcy kissed the hand that held his in agreement, as she continued, "…It is our wedding gift to her, for Jane and I shall on that day be beginning what we feel is the happiest of lives, and she shall be nearer to knowing true loneliness after two decades of existing for nothing but the planning and settling of her daughters. Papa will always have his books, but what does she have? She does not know this yet, but when Mary and Kitty are finally gone from the house, Mama will fall into despair. I worry about that."

There was a long silence as Darcy could certainly relate to loneliness and despair while feeling little empathy for a woman who had raised being an impertinent embarrassment to her daughters to an art form. Still, he did not like the idea of his Elizabeth worrying about anything, so he attempted to lighten the moment.

"Well, if you should like to postpone the wedding another six months to allow more flowers and frippery, I've no doubt Mrs. Bennet would be most obliging—

"Bite your tongue, sir!" Elizabeth playfully swatted him on the arm, which made him laugh. She looked at him archly.

"Why, Mr. Darcy? Laughing? I did not know such a thing was possible."

"It is more than possible," he said, looking ahead, not daring to meet her eyes lest he kiss her to silence her teasing as he had always imagined.

_Well, why not? We are engaged now. _

Darcy halted and gazed down at her, much as he had just before he proposed the second time.

_Should I ask permission? What if she thinks me too forward? Stop being a fool, Darcy!_

Elizabeth looked up at him in a way that he could not mistake her feelings.

"Well, Mr. Darcy? Or shall I call you Fitzwilliam?"

He swallowed hard. "William."

She lowered her eyelids and said in a voice just above a whisper, "William."

Careful of her inexperience, he gently put his arms around her as if she may break and lowered his mouth to hers. It started with a light brushing of her lips, then gradually deepened to the point where he hardly knew how or when to stop. His head moved from side to side as he claimed her lips again and again. Her response to him was at first submissive, then just as demanding as she embraced him tightly, prompting him to do the same. He felt her hand on the back of his head, which only heightened his arousal, and he continued drinking from her while inhibiting with great strength his most ardent desires. To keep them from wandering elsewhere, his hands moved to her face, fingertips lightly touching her hair, and he wondered between kisses just how long those dark curls extended and what it would feel like against his bare skin as they lay in bed…

Darcy at last pulled away, fearing he may very well act out the fantasy that began swirling in his mind if he continued. By God, he _was_ a gentleman, and remain one he shall! Closing his eyes, his breathing labored, he fought with himself for control, but kept his hands on her face, his thumb brushing over her now rosy lower lip. Before he knew it, the words spilled out in a whisper: "I love you."

There was a long silence as he sensed her gaze upon him, yet he could not bring himself to return it.

"William?"

Reluctantly, Darcy opened his eyes, wanting to close them again immediately, but she commanded him.

"I love you, too," she said openly, without fear, eyes sparkling in a way that always threatened to undo him.

He lay his forehead against hers. Should he fall down dead at that moment, he would be happy. He never wanted this moment to end and could not imagine having a happier moment in the future. Something in him still feared he might lose her. He could not explain it and refused to dwell on it; therefore, Darcy straightened himself and hesitantly left their embrace.

"Come," he said, linking her arm around his to lead her back to Longbourn.

As the barouche set off for the wedding breakfast at Netherfield, Darcy laughed inwardly at the impatience he felt at that moment, when just a few months ago he was convinced all hope for ever having her was lost. Now that his future was sealed, all the petals and well-wishes fluttering about them meant very little, while the anticipation of their wedding night in London, their journey to Pemberley, their children, and their subsequent days as man and wife meant _everything_, that he had finally attained _his_ piece of the world and to the devil with all the rest.

_She may very well die in childbirth._

Darcy grimaced at that horrific thought, wondering why such notions plagued him during his happiest moments and wishing he could get shut of them. During this assessment, he felt the gentle squeezing of his hand and looked over at the beauty in white sitting beside him.

"All is well," she said as though reading his troubled mind. He leaned toward her and kissed her smiling lips.

-00-

At the wedding breakfast in Netherfield's ballroom, Col. Richard Fitzwilliam was all contentment during this most happy occasion. He was well acquainted with Charles Bingley, who he had met through Darcy a few times and found to be a most agreeable gentleman—and Bingley's bride, good Lord! She was a diamond of the first water with the temperament of a seraph. But he was truly there for Darcy, his first cousin and dearest friend since childhood. During the celebration, Fitzwilliam glanced frequently at Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, marveling at the change not only in Darcy's demeanor, but his entire being, since Elizabeth Bennet came into his life.

He had no idea, no idea at all, that Darcy harbored passionate feelings for Miss Bennet during their yearly visit to Rosings Park in Hunsford, Kent, a visit both cousins had abhorred since childhood, yet dutifully sustained if only for their long-suffering cousin, Anne, who remained so much under her mother's thumb that she rarely spoke even when spoken to. Miss Bennet had been visiting her friend, Mrs. Collins, who lived but a lane apart from Rosings at the Hunsford parsonage; and Col. Fitzwilliam was grateful for Miss Bennet's company during a normally tortuous week in the household of their wretched Aunt. Having been informed of Miss Bennet's liveliness of spirit from Darcy, he openly engaged in flirting with her and was delighted in her reception, as no one else in their party seemed willing to take pleasure in _anything_, but were rather resigned in being at the disposal of, as that ridiculous rector Mr. Collins would proclaim, his _noble_ _patroness_, Lady Catherine DeBourgh.

Much as he enjoyed Miss Bennet's companionship during that time, finding both her natural beauty and wit exhilarating, the colonel and _second _son of the Earl of Matlock had no serious designs on her, as his financial dependence and lack of an inheritance must be duly considered in the choosing of a bride. He had no delusions in terms of his worth, or lack thereof, having "earned" the rank of colonel by value of his family's estate, though he had always found the military fascinating and took seriously his occupation unlike so many of his peers. He ran his men ragged during mock skirmishes and drills and took care that every one of his subordinates could fire a weapon skillfully. He was held in respect by superiors for that very reason, but with only a meager allowance to help support him, Fitzwilliam had not Darcy's freedom to marry where he wished, nor could he, to be perfectly honest, provide the kind of life befitting a woman of Miss Bennet's nature. She needed and deserved what a man like Darcy could provide, not the unsteady life of a soldier's wife amidst the reign of that madman in France where, if ever called to combat, Col. Fitzwilliam may be gone for weeks at a time while she waited at home, a modest home, with only a maid of all work for companionship; And if he should die in battle…no, that would not do.

Moreover, the depth of Darcy's feelings for Miss Bennet manifested itself in a most profound and disturbing way one morning at Rosings when Darcy barged through the front door after having been out since near daybreak. "Darcy!" The Colonel had shouted in his most authoritative voice that had halted many a soldier in his tracks. He'd had enough of this secrecy, this sort of turmoil that seemed to consume his cousin of late, for he had also disappeared the day before during a visit from that insipid Collins, his wife, and her younger sister. In that instance, Lady Catherine was literally in mid-sentence when Darcy bolted from the room without a word. At first, Fitzwilliam was convinced he had either suddenly taken ill or had just heard some dreadful bit of news from one of the servants, perhaps about Georgiana. Upon that notion, Fitzwilliam had started after him when, only seconds later, he heard the front door slam and through a window watched his cousin march down the lane in a most determined manner. Wherever he was going, there would be no stopping him, so the colonel patiently awaited his return, enduring the exceedingly dull visit as best he could and wishing Miss Bennet were there to entertain him.

_Miss Bennet? Surely not… _

Comprehension dawned while he sat apart from the rest of the party, his thoughts thoroughly engaged over Lady Catherine's clucking. The Colonel had been out walking with Miss Bennet not an hour before when she had suddenly claimed illness, citing a slight headache. They had been discussing Darcy and his recent intervention concerning his dear friend, Charles Bingley, who came close, Fitzwilliam had told her, to making a most imprudent decision in regards to a certain lady from an unsuitable family…

_Did Miss Bennet know the lady? Was she a friend?_

Whatever Fitzwilliam had said, it had distressed her immensely, so much so that she had feigned a headache in order to be alone for the afternoon. And Darcy was heading straight in her direction.

_ It cannot be so. Darcy would hardly condescend…_

He admired her, of that Fitzwilliam was certain, for Darcy had never before sung the praises of _any_ lady before Miss Bennet, finding fault with most every available female in his presence to an annoying degree. Some were patently mercenary, while others merely dismissed without reason at all. He seemed, however, to find no fault with Miss Bennet, but rather mentioned her often, was drawn to her presence, and certainly stared enough at her to divert the colonel exceedingly; yet he also knew the strength of Darcy's sense of duty and propriety instilled in him from a very young age. Though he possessed that luxury, choosing a bride below one's station was not commonly done and certainly not done by a man of Darcy's integrity.

_Upon my word,_ _I shall get to the bottom of this._

Sensing his return an hour later by the sound of the front door opening, followed by several harsh footsteps, Fitzwilliam decided to appear lighthearted in an effort not to disconcert Lady Catherine further, although she had already begun demanding the reasons for her _favorite_ nephew's sudden departure. The last thing Darcy needed was her interference, to be sure, therefore Fitzwilliam, acting as a buffer, casually headed in his direction, jovially exclaiming upon seeing his cousin that they'd all quite despaired over having missed his company. With little concern for decorum, Darcy dismissed both he and his bellowing Aunt as abruptly as he had departed, muttering something about tending to a "pressing matter of business" before disappearing up the stairs to his chambers. Now truly alarmed, Fitzwilliam nearly marched up the stairs himself to demand an explanation if only to assuage his profound curiosity. He had decided against it, however, as he knew his cousin well enough to know when he demanded solitude, a solitude that lasted over the next twelve hours.

_Had he proposed? Possibly. Had she refused him? Most assuredly not. Perhaps he intended to make Miss Bennet his mistress. So help me, if he compromised her…_

Fitzwilliam had appeared at the breakfast table the next morning, ready to confront Darcy as he no doubt believed Lady Catherine would. Perhaps he could assist him by keeping her tentacles at bay before getting some answers of his own at a later time. Upon learning that Darcy was already out at such an early hour, Fitzwilliam's vexation was ready to undo him. _What the bloody hell was going on? _He kept an eye on the front entrance all morning in anticipation of Darcy's arrival, determined that upon its opening he _would_ have an answer.

"Darcy!"

Sure enough, Darcy came to a halt right there in the foyer, clearly aware of Fitzwilliam's presence but staring straight ahead, his expression fearful in its intensity. Fitzwilliam waved off the doorman, who could not have been happier to disappear at that moment.

"It is done," Darcy said in an unrecognizable voice to no one as the colonel slowly approached his clearly distraught cousin.

"What? _What_ is done, Darcy?"

Darcy stood motionless, squeezing his hat so tightly as to ruin it, as though something violent within him would unleash but for his equanimity. Fitzwilliam was concerned beyond measure. No matter of business would cause his friend these twenty-five years at least to behave thusly. This was personal, and deeply so.

Fitzwilliam braced himself. "Cousin, please tell me you've done nothing dishonorable. You must give me that."

Darcy finally turned his head to look at him, and Fitzwilliam would never forget the utter defeat in his countenance. For a moment, the colonel detected an anger directed at _him_, a most accusatory stare that suddenly gave way to unbearable sadness. Were those tears in his eyes?

"Darcy, let me help you—"

"Forgive me," he interrupted. "I must go at once."

The dark eyes that a moment ago were so full of feeling suddenly turned cold. Fitzwilliam immediately recognized what he was about, as he had seen that look after the death of Darcy's Mother, again upon the passing of his father, then once more after Wickham's treachery that nearly destroyed his beloved sister. He was suppressing everything he felt and willing himself to remain under complete control.

"Do not do this, Will. You must talk—"

Before the colonel could finish, Darcy strode past him toward the sanctity of his rooms once again. He started up the stairs, Fitzwilliam close behind.

"You cannot leave _at once_, Darcy. We have to make our excuses—"

"I am done caring about _my duties_ to that woman or to anyone else!"

Suddenly, both men froze upon the distant pounding of a cane against the floor, followed by the same shrill voice that had set their teeth on edge since boyhood.

"Darcy! Fitzwilliam! Where are you? I demand you come to me this instant!"

Immediately, Darcy turned and started back down the stairs.

"Very well, Richard. We shall leave first thing in the morning."

"And you will tell me all?"

Darcy gestured for his cousin to join him outside. Both gentlemen departed just before the old woman emerged to impose her wrath.

And so it was. Elizabeth Bennet was indeed the source of Darcy's despair, as he related during a walk in the direction of the parsonage where she had been residing those last few weeks. Darcy was solemn during his confession as he talked of an insulting proposal, the lies of George Wickham, and an ill-considered interference in the lives of Charles Bingley and Miss Bennet's own beloved sister, wherein a heated quarrel ensued between himself and the object of his most ardent desire. To the colonel, Miss Bennet's outright refusal of Darcy's hand was shocking enough, but the venom accompanying it he found near implausible.

_Who refuses Fitzwilliam Darcy? Nobody!_

As he listened, the colonel began to grasp that both men had underestimated this country lass, that she would _not_ be won over by the mere presence of wealth, promise of security and a place in Society, and that Darcy, for all his strength of character, had done nothing to actually _earn_ her respect and admiration. Still, as he hated to see his dear friend suffer, Fitzwilliam wanted to advise him as he would his own men, encourage him not to surrender, that there was still hope, especially after Darcy had delivered to her his all-revealing letter that absolved his character she had so soundly condemned. But no, his cousin was not in battle, but rather conquered. Fitzwilliam reminded Darcy that he was at his disposal and willing to do anything he asked regarding the matter. As they were received at the parsonage and told Miss Bennet had not yet returned, Darcy, who seemed relieved, had simply asked Fitzwilliam that he make himself available to her in order to validate the details regarding Georgiana and Wickham, then promptly took his leave. As Fitzwilliam waited and poor, awkward Maria Lucas fumbled with the tea, he grew more and more restless, still believing things could be set right between his cousin and Miss Bennet, and nearly resolved to search for her himself. He thought better of it, however, for as far as Darcy was concerned, the battle was over and lost, leaving him wounded and embittered. He could not bear to ever again upset her thusly, nor would he ever forgive Fitzwilliam for doing so. There was nothing for it. He would not be moved, and Fitzwilliam could hardly lay blame, nor identify with his grief. After an hour at least, Fitzwilliam finally quit the house, resigned that a favorable resolution may indeed be out of reach.

And now here he was, half a year later, attending Darcy's wedding, for in the form of misfortune, or temporary defeat, often comes opportunity. Darcy seized the opportunity as soon as it set foot onto the grounds of Pemberley, held on with both hands, and refused to let go. Indeed, there was no choice to be made, according to Darcy, who asserted simply that another rejection would have cracked his resolve, but never his constancy. Though an intrigued Fitzwilliam persisted, Darcy would say no more than that; and as he saw the joy in his cousin's eyes while standing next to his beloved bride, Fitzwilliam was ashamed at how little he had regarded him as a man of flesh and blood who could be broken as any man could under exacting circumstances. He was also ashamed of the jealousy he felt at that moment. Truly, Fitzwilliam never wished to become undone by love, requited or not, but he and Darcy had shared a rivalry from a young age that was never malicious, but competitive nonetheless. Fitzwilliam had enjoyed monopolizing Miss Bennet's attentions during those days at Rosings, proving once again to his wealthier cousin how much better _he_ was at both charming and entertaining the fairer sex; yet Darcy had ultimately and most inadvertently bested him, for even an officer of Col. Fitzwilliam's courage would not have gone to the depths and breadths to which Darcy had gone to win the heart of a woman, _the_ woman. Yes, theirs would be an extraordinary marriage indeed.


	2. Part 2

Elizabeth Darcy could no longer lie to herself that she was not frightened. She was about to leave all she had ever known, had ever loved, in her life, and start a new life as mistress of a most grand estate in which her duties would be, in relative terms, monumental indeed. Her love for William tempered her anxieties, for she could no longer imagine her life without him, no more than she could ignore the enormous responsibilities that awaited her. She sensed her beloved's impatience during the ceremony and vowed right then and there to never be an idle mistress, but both dependable and useful, for he clearly had in her the utmost confidence. The reservations he had expressed during his disastrous first proposal was an acknowledged blunder he swore he would spend the rest of his life regretting, even when she assured him such moments must be left in the past in order to attain their future happiness.

"_Never_ doubt my pride in you," he stressed the evening before their wedding.

Elizabeth laughed. "No indeed, sir! If there is but one thing I can always rely upon, Mr. Darcy, it is your _pride_!"

Out of either emphasis or frustration, she knew not which, Darcy raised the hand that held his and pressed it against his heart.

"I am quite serious, Madam."

She sobered instantly. "I do understand, forgive me. Had you any doubts, I know you'd have never fought for me as you did."

"And I would do so again." He kissed her then repeatedly. "And again…and again…and again."

And she would do the same for him. She also would see to her husband's needs, as well as the needs of their staff, their tenants if necessary, their frequent guests, and especially their children. As much as possible, she would relieve William of the stress that no doubt weighed upon him since the death of his father that left him at too young an age not only guardian to a grieving child, but Master of an estate half the size of Derbyshire. Her daily tasks would be nothing to his, and she would prove herself worthy to both her husband and the society that still harbored misgivings.

But such an undertaking would be life-altering, indeed. Before Mr. Darcy lay his claim on her, Elizabeth's daily tasks were little more than a pleasant walk, a good book, and keeping her younger sisters in line. She spoke to Jane about it at length, sometimes until dawn, for her sister held the same fears and uncertainties. How does one prepare for such an adjustment? Finally, they sought the counsel of their Aunt Gardiner, whose wisdom and calmness of manner always helped to set their minds at ease.

"Dear Lizzy! Dear Jane! Do not distress over such things. It is not quicksilver, but a gradual transition. You are both, as I was, immeasurably fortunate in marrying men who love you so dearly. You will _want_ to please him as he wants you to be pleased. You will _want_ all these things you now fear, for his happiness and well-being will be your first waking thought each and every morning. If nothing else, you will heed this tenet in your marriage: As you have chosen wisely, you _must_ treat kindly."

Those words were both a comfort and a command to Lizzy. Sweet Jane treated everyone with kindness, even those who did not deserve it, as did Bingley! Elizabeth was more obstinate toward those who made her cross. She could always maintain civility, except when she could not, as Mr. Darcy was most painfully aware. She could not promise, but fervently prayed, that she should never punish him so again, not when his love for her was understood so completely. He was fully in her power, and she would not abuse it. Rather, she would turn her power over to him, not merely in subservience, but in deepest affection.

Both Elizabeth and Jane also fretted over the impending wedding night. Upon retiring, whenever Lizzy brought up the delicate subject, Jane would immediately cover her face with her hands or hide under the covers.

"Oh, Lizzy! What are we to do? Must we be…_naked_?"

Elizabeth laughed. She knew little of the knowledge between man and wife beyond drawings found in certain books Mr. Bennet had thought were hidden away from his most curious daughter. In truth, the very idea of lying nude with William unnerved her exceedingly, but in a way, she would _not_ admit to her dear, innocent sister, that was most welcome. He had kissed her multiple times during private moments, sometimes quite ardently, and each kiss sent tingles throughout her body. Indeed, she was most attracted to him, and to be perfectly honest had always been, even when she was certain she loathed his very being, even during and _after_ she rejected his hand! Physical attraction was a strange thing, certainly much different than love. Clearly men experienced lust often and love but a few times in life, while women as the recipients of passion either accept or reject a man's ardor, but tend to fall in love quite frequently. Once again, Elizabeth had placed herself in a singular category of female. She not only loved William with all her heart, she _wanted_ him, and the sooner the better! Was that wrong?

Mrs. Bennet was of no help on this subject, as she stressed that the marriage bed was a cursed duty all wives must bear in order to allow their husbands to both take their pleasure and produce an heir.

"It will be over quickly, girls, and painful to be sure," their Mother said. "Take comfort in that he will come less and less to you once you become expectant, for men hate the very sight of a woman with child!"

Upon hearing this alarming bit of counsel from her addled nieces, Mrs. Gardiner once again assumed the task of setting things right.

"It _is_ painful at first," she said thoughtfully. "But after a while…quite glorious."

Lizzy and Jane watched their Aunt blush and instantly requested to hear more of what they were to expect. Mrs. Gardiner waved off their inquiries, refusing to go into unladylike detail.

"It is different for everyone," she said, choosing her words carefully. "I cannot tell you what you will feel. I can only tell you that…the more you _trust_ you husband, and certainly the more you love him, the better it will be. For both of you."

Such a vague summation! At that, Lizzy and Jane were forced to quit the subject entirely, for their Aunt Gardiner assured them they would need no further information, that nature _would_ take its course.

In fact, the very nature of love was what must have compelled Darcy to suddenly take Elizabeth's hand and furtively lead her from Netherfield's ballroom to the secluded and darkened billiard room, upon which he embraced her passionately, lifting her off her feet, and kissed her until she could scarcely breathe. With joyful laughter, she wrapped her arms around his strong shoulders and spoke softly into his ear.

"Are you happy, Mr. Darcy?"

He answered by setting her down on the table, wherein he captured her lips again, uttering between kisses, "I remember when you wandered into this room…that evening…while I was alone—"

"Quite by accident, I daresay—"

"Yet I so wanted you to stay and keep me company—"

"A scandalous notion, indeed—"

"Just to be near you for a short while—"

She then discontinued their fervent kissing to take his face in her hands and stare at him in awe.

"Why, dear William! Had you already formed an attachment?"

He pondered a moment. "I hardly know."

"Perhaps…something within you needed me by your side?"

"Perhaps."

She remembered that moment over a year ago as vividly as he, how she had become lost on her way to the drawing room after tending to poor Jane, how awkward she had felt having intruded upon Mr. Darcy's solitary game, and how much his brooding gaze had unnerved her before she hastily quit the room.

They kissed once again, this time slowly, relishing one another. Elizabeth knew that if William tried to take her as his wife right then and there, she may very well do nothing to stop it! If only the entire world at that moment would disappear. Or intervene.

"We must return," she said weakly.

"Indeed," he whispered, kissing a trail down her neck and along her collarbone.

-00-

With both reverence and envy, Mary Bennet watched Georgiana Darcy happily playing the pianoforte in Netherfield's ballroom while the improperly large amount of guests made merry among a bounteous buffet. It was impossible not to notice that the young lady was most accomplished. Then again, Miss Darcy had the best masters to refine her talents, unlike herself, who practiced endlessly, but mostly at her own tutelage.

Mary caught Georgiana's eye as she played the final movement, and her reticent, but welcoming smile compelled her to make her way over to the instrument, for Mary was unaccustomed to being noticed, much less summoned.

Whether it was an interest in her playing or merely making a friend, Georgiana was not sure, but as she had not exchanged more than a few words with Mary Bennet since meeting her a few days before the wedding, Georgiana decided to use the opportunity know her new sister better, silently inviting Mary to join her at the instrument. There was a long, awkward silence between them, as neither seemed to know what to say. Georgiana then thought of how easily Elizabeth could begin a conversation, and was most determined at that moment to overcome her shyness. What better time than at her dear brother's wedding?

"I understand you play, Mary, as well." _There_, she thought_. Solid attempt! _

Mary said flatly, "Indeed, but I am afraid I haven't the talents you possess, nor the masters at your disposal."

Georgiana feigned concentration in an effort not to show offense, remembering Elizabeth's warning to her about Mary's pedantic nature. "On the contrary, I had few teachers," Georgiana finally replied. "My mother was quite weak as I grew up and did little but play while I sat by her side. I watched her fingers and would mimic her movements. Eventually she could play no longer, and I took over, which brought her pleasure. The masters were far too strict, and my brother discarded them altogether while I was still very young."

Mary looked down at her own clasped hands. "I meant no disrespect, Miss…Georgiana. I did not mean to imply…that is, you simply play so expertly it is difficult to imagine you've not had careful instruction."

Georgiana's smile returned. "I thank you." She stood up. "Now it is your turn, for Elizabeth tells me you play at home far more than even I, and therefore must be a true proficient."

Mary hesitated only a moment before replacing Georgiana at the instrument as though eager to prove herself. Before she had the chance to begin, however, Kitty Bennet approached in all excitement with Maria Lucas in tow.

"We've just heard Mr. Bingley…or _Charles_ has promised to give another ball after Christmas!"

Inquired Maria, "Do you have many balls at Pemberley, Miss Darcy?"

Georgiana hardly had time to answer before Kitty exclaimed, "Surely you must have one for every occasion, how could you not? Why, if I had your family's wealth—"

"Hold your tongue!" Mary scolded. "And I know not why you talk of balls, Kitty, when Papa has expressly forbid you attending anything of the sort for the foreseeable future. Have you learned nothing from Lydia's loss of virtue due to such frivolities?"

"Lydia is a married woman now, is she not? Everything turned out for the best, I daresay. And Papa would not dare lock me away during a ball held by my own brother! It would be most cruel! Do you not agree, Georgiana?"

"He both would and _should_," said Mary, quite ignoring Georgiana's presence by now, "for I shall most fervently advise against it, and as _I_ am now the eldest sister at Longbourn, it is my duty to see you not behave against all better judgment and the principles of morality—"

"If I fell in line with _your_ principles of morality, I'd scarcely have any fun _or_ friends, nor leave the confines of Longbourn ever again!"

"'Tis no more than you deserve given your utter impertinence…"

The girls bickered on as Georgiana stood by in discomfort. She said to Maria in a whisper, "Is this what it is like to have sisters?"

Maria giggled. "Certainly in the Bennet family, I daresay."

Georgiana pondered this answer. How could that be? Elizabeth behaved nothing like this. _More Bennet by blood than by nature_, she concluded, looking over to see her brother and Elizabeth entering the ballroom after an extended absence. William whispered something in his wife's ear that made her laugh before she left his side to visit with Mr. and Mrs. Bingley. William then looked directly at Georgiana and motioned for her to join him, an invitation she would gladly accept.

"Excuse me ladies," she said before taking her leave, not that Mary and Kitty had noticed over their sniping at one another.

Georgiana entered her brother's strong embrace, inwardly declaring she had never before seen him so happy after having observed quite the opposite upon his return from Kent last spring. If he were not for those two months together locked away in his study or his chambers, then he was sitting alone in an empty room merely staring out the window. He took long morning rides, buried himself in his duties to the exclusion of everything and everyone, and accepted no invitations or visitors outside of business matters; but what alarmed Georgiana most was when he snapped rudely at the servants, once even at her, which caused her to flee the room in heartbreak.

_He is so altered, _she had thought. _But he would never behave so without good reason. _

Finally, she had come to the conclusion that he was still deeply saddened and full of self-recrimination over her thoughtless actions the year before that nearly cost her and her family so dearly. He always took so much upon himself, and her own despondency must have only made matters worse.

One evening, she found him sitting in the music room at the pianoforte, tapping the keys in a most inharmonious fashion. He hardly noticed her presence until she asked warily, "May I play for you, Brother?"

He said nothing, but merely shifted his position and patted the empty place by his side for her to sit down. She did so and began playing a light arrangement in a vain effort to lift his spirits, for she could not bring herself to break the tension in the room by once again begging his forgiveness and promising to both find a way to cease her melancholy and to never let him down again. Tears sprung as she played a full sonata while William remained motionless, his eyes distant.

_This will not do! We are both so utterly miserable, _she thought. _I must surely say something—_

"Your brother is a fool."

His abrupt statement seemed so out of character that Georgiana's fingers immediately froze upon the keys, and she looked at him with blue eyes pleading.

"You are _not_ a fool! But for God's mercy and your intervention I might be, I _would_ be, the miserable wife of a blackguard by now! You are _all_ that is wise and good, and no one can truthfully say otherwise!"

William stood at that point and took several steps away, keeping his back to her.

"There's where you are wrong, dearest. There are those indeed who can say otherwise and so much more. That I am _conceited_, that I am _arrogant_, that I am _selfish_, that I am…that I am insensitive to the feelings and wishes of those I hold most dear and disdainful of those I hold below me, and they…" He paused to discipline his rising emotions, then continued, "And _she_ is correct in her assessment."

In great shock, Georgiana could scarcely find the words before she simply asked, "She?"

Georgiana had been practically in awe of Elizabeth Bennet since their first meeting in Lambton when introduced by her brother, who had mentioned her only in letters before finally admitting his love for the lady in the music room that evening at Pemberley. At first, she wanted to hate the mysterious woman who had caused her brother such despair, but William would have none of it; and later, when she saw the hope in his eyes as he described having run into her quite by accident on Pemberley's grounds and how she had accepted his offer to introduce them, Georgiana wanted nothing more than for Miss Elizabeth to become part of their family as soon as possible so that William could finally attain the happiness he so deserved.

The lady certainly did not disappoint. Expecting her to be intimidating, Elizabeth's kindness and humor, along with her even-tempered manner and self-confidence, impressed Georgiana far more than most of the established ladies of the Beau Monde, who seemed only to sway their noses in the air like the feathers in their turbans. She had witnessed the way Elizabeth managed hens like Miss Bingley and had heard from William about her extraordinary confrontation with Aunt Catherine, a woman who always made Georgiana want to run and hide. Indeed, she had never seen such intelligence, such poise, and found Elizabeth—just as William had—a perfect addition to their lives.

"Do you like your new sister?" William asked as they watched Elizabeth talking and laughing with Mr. and Mrs. Bingley.

She smiled up at him, squeezing his arm.

"Oh, I simply adore her, Will. I hope to be just like her someday."

He smiled slightly. "She will help you to become the best you can be, I assure you."

"And I think she is perfect for you! I only hope…"

Georgiana looked away shyly. William placed his hand gently on hers.

"You hope what, dearest?"

"Do you think it possible that I might find a match as you did?"

"Of course you will," he said effortlessly, and at her puzzled expression added, "Do you know how I know?"

She shook her head.

"Because unlike so many your age, and I daresay many more three times that, you have the advantage of _wisdom_ as the result of a grievous error in judgment—an error that has undoubtedly strengthened your character and elevated your reason."

She took comfort in his words until a sudden thought crossed her mind that made her cry, "But love has no reason!"

William was silent for several moments. Finally he said, "Then you are not to fall in love until I give you express permission."

He gave her an arch glance, and Georgiana broke into laughter. Hardly able to contain his smile, William leaned in and kissed her forehead.


	3. Part 3

Caroline Bingley could scarce believe it. Fitzwilliam Darcy of _Pemberley_ had allowed the allurements of a country nobody to ensnare him into the most appalling of marriages. Why, she remembered vividly how repulsed he was upon his first visit to Meryton and the jests they had shared in regard to the savages in attendance at that awful assembly. Had his superior character altered so drastically?

_Most certainly not! He will regret his decision soon after having his fill of their marriage bed. Of that, there is no doubt. _

Lustful desire was a most disastrous thing—so impractical, so silly! Caroline had always considered Darcy above such carnality. He was no longer to her a man of sense and worth, but a weak-willed and weak-minded fool. Well, what was done was done. It was too late for him, but not for her. She _would_ find a creditable _and_ wealthy gentleman to be her husband. She _would_ be mistress of her own estate. And the man she finally settled on _would_ be of excellent breeding and would treat her with all the respect and admiration she deserved.

There would be a price to pay, of course. She simply must learn to treat Eliza Bennet—or _Darcy_, with a semblance of respect, no matter how much she loathed her. Caroline looked over at the smiling bride in merry conversation with Charles and Jane, so satisfied in her fine catch of a husband.

_Impudent trollop, how dare you! You are nobody!_

As for her brother's choice, he was not only a caper wit but unforgivably selfish for connecting the Bingley name to that wretched Bennet family—much as Jane, she was forced to admit, was a sweet and lovely girl. Properly humble. That Eliza, however, with her disrespectful remarks and flagrant conceit—Caroline abhorred her very existence; yet she had to behave courteously in order to attain at least a yearly invitation to Pemberley. Charles was now Jane's husband, which made Caroline a relation Mrs. Darcy could not ignore, but civility would no doubt be a requirement. There was nothing else for it. Caroline had to maintain her status in society while working like the devil to elevate it. As Mr. Darcy was temporarily gone from his wife's side, Caroline decided it was time to make her move. She must go congratulate the new Mrs. Darcy.

"Dearest Eliza!"

Elizabeth stiffened instantly._ The sing-song voice of insincerity doth approach. Let us get this over with._

She put on her best smile as Caroline Bingley took Elizabeth's hands and kissed one cheek, then the other.

"I could not allow you to depart without wishing you joy. Such a beautiful ceremony, was it not, Charles?"

"Indeed," said Charles in a jolly tone, but with an air of suspicion.

"I thank you, Miss Bingley." Elizabeth braced herself for an ill-disguised rude remark.

"My dear, you must call me Caroline. We are sisters now, after all." Miss Bingley took Jane's hand along with Elizabeth's. "We are _all_ sisters. I wonder, Mrs. Darcy, may I now call you Lizzy?"

"You may." Elizabeth hardly knew what to make of Caroline's manner, half-wondering if she were jug-bitten. Caroline once again took both of Elizabeth's hands.

"Lizzy, I sense your apprehension, and I do not blame you. Indeed, I have learned a great deal these past months after so despicably helping to separate dear Jane from my brother, and believe me, received a thorough tongue-lashing for it."

Caroline glanced at her brother, who nodded slightly.

"I shall not attempt to deny," She continued, "that I once disapproved of you and found the entire Bennet family beneath our own…"

"Miss Bing—_Caroline_, please, let us not dwell on such unpleasantness. It is all in the past."

"But now I am proud to call you sister, and I think you truly worthy of the Darcy name."

Elizabeth saw the opportunity in this declaration. "Such praise, indeed! And what made you change your mind, pray?"

Caroline did not hesitate. "I told you once that Mr. Darcy was a man without fault. As he has chosen _you_ out of all eligible women of the _ton_ who could scarcely turn his head, I am convinced you are something special, indeed. Therefore, please accept my apology, Mrs. Darcy, and my friendship."

Elizabeth noted the contradiction in Caroline's words, for how could her high opinion of Mr. Darcy have remained exactly the same while he first condemned, then accepted her family; yet her esteem for Elizabeth increased only after knowing his intention to marry her? Elizabeth's instinct was to make this very point aloud until she glanced over at Jane, whose eyes pleaded with Elizabeth for a truce between them.

"I accept your apology." Elizabeth hesitated a moment, then added, "And your friendship."

Elizabeth regretted the last words the instant she said them, fully understanding that they were the exact words Caroline wished to hear in front of Jane and Charles, for now Elizabeth was duty-bound to live by the affirmation if Caroline could maintain her _sisterly_ attitude.

"I thank you, Lizzy. From the bottom of my heart," said Caroline, her smile as unbending as her posture.

_Kindness, Lizzy. Kindness!_

Elizabeth was absolutely resolved not to allow the abject falseness of the woman before her trigger even a sarcastic retort, for she would be confronted regularly with many a Caroline Bingley (and the occasional Lady Catherine) from here on end. Furthermore, she resolved not to allow a mere stiffness of manner or an unfriendly appearance instigate a low opinion of _anyone_ she encountered among the gentry or the peerage. As it should be, she would judge all on an individual basis. Given that with Caroline Bingley, her opinion was decidedly set, mercy and kindness in spite of what she felt were the only two options before her. Elizabeth could spare both for a short while at least.

Charlotte Collins was eager for a word with Lizzy, for they had long been the best of friends; and despite her own husband's objections, Charlotte had insisted on attending Lizzy's wedding to Mr. Darcy. In fact, Mr. Collins made a feeble attempt to _forbid_ his wife to make the trip to Hertfordshire, no doubt at the behest of Lady Catherine, to which Charlotte stated simply that she would be staying at Lucas Lodge with her family, longtime neighbors of the Bennets, and that she would be gone a sennight. It was the first time Charlotte outright denied a request from her husband. Mr. Collins acquiesced, not that he had a choice, on the condition that he go with her, for Lady Catherine would not approve of her pastor's wife on such a journey unaccompanied. This Charlotte could not deny him, though she suspected more behind his motivations than adherence to Lady Catherine's dictates of propriety.

The wedding breakfast at Netherfield was certainly not a lavish affair, but Mr. Bingley's jolliness of manner affirmed for Charlotte a propensity to be near those he cared for most, in addition to an inability to exclude those who cared most about _those _loved ones; therefore, those in attendance included not only the standard tradition of immediate family and close friends, but also the nearest relations to both. The utilization of the ballroom was not ostentatious, but merely necessary, though Charlotte could clearly see Mr. Darcy's discomfort over the aberrantly large amount of guests.

She could also sense that, beneath his ever present cloak of self-possession, he was ready to burst at the seams with the desire to whisk Lizzy away to London post haste. Charlotte had known since well before Eliza's visit to Kent last April that Mr. Darcy was not the man many had believed him to be—arrogant, proud, impenetrable—that in one capacity at least this guarded gentleman was truly susceptible, namely the mere presence of Elizabeth Bennet.

Charlotte had tried to tell Lizzy that Mr. Darcy was enamored with her and had encouraged her to accept his attentions favorably, but Lizzy at the time was quite stubbornly determined to not only dislike one of the wealthiest and most eligible bachelors in all the East Midlands of England, but to fervently deny that she was his maiden of choice! Any fool could see it—well, not Mr. Collins or Lady Catherine, certainly not Maria—but it was entirely evident to Charlotte that Mr. Darcy would either propose or go mad before their Easter holiday in Hunsford was complete. How unfortunate it did not happen at that most opportune time.

Lizzy's letter several months later stating she was at last engaged to Mr. Darcy caused a knowing smile to spread across Charlotte's face, for apparently her friend's pig-headed resolve was ultimately (thank goodness!) no match for his. Indeed, they made a truly splendid pair, with her sparkling vivacity and his no-nonsense austerity; and the security he could offer her and the entire Bennet family made Charlotte frequently wonder why on Earth it took dear Eliza so long to see reason. The subject of reason versus romanticism had been often discussed between them, no more recently than upon Charlotte's acceptance of William Collins, a man Lizzy and most others found profoundly ridiculous. She knew Elizabeth could still not fully grasp the logic in such a union, but as she was a full seven years younger than Charlotte, this mindset was understandable. Charlotte herself had felt similarly at such an age, had even fallen in love once most painfully and regrettably; but there comes a time when idealism must be laid to rest in favor of rationality. Mr. Collins's situation in life, a protected occupation in Hunsford along with the inheritance of Longbourn upon the death of Mr. Bennet, not to mention their current residence in the parsonage, assured Charlotte the kind of security that Lizzy was still far too young to covet. The manageable drawbacks of being married to Mr. Collins far outweighed the utter misery of being a destitute and dependent spinster, and Charlotte felt she managed her home and husband quite well, complete with privacy, autonomy, and peace of mind. Whether Lizzy chose to believe so or not, Charlotte had not a single regret in her choices and was well satisfied in her circumstances. Furthermore, she possessed news that made her feel even more content, news she could hardly wait to share with Mrs. Darcy if she could only find the right moment.

Finally, it was Lizzy who sought her out after Mr. Collins had decided to approach Mr. and Mrs. Bingley to offer congratulations and to remind the couple (once again!) of how comparable their ballroom was to that of the "grand ballroom" at Rosings. Charlotte had learned to ignore her husband's boorish ramblings long ago, though had not yet figured out a way to curb them. A most difficult charge, that.

"Charlotte!"

Elizabeth embraced her dear friend, entirely grateful that she had decided to attend the wedding despite the overt objections of a certain overbearing dowager who Charlotte no doubt must have endured up until the day of her departure. Charlotte wrote of her ladyship's outrage at the match, but only to, as she put it, reassure Elizabeth that she herself was delighted by the engagement, and that she would gladly bear the brunt of Lady Catherine's vitriol, for she was by now as accustomed to her histrionics as she was her husband's categorical adulation of all things DeBourgh.

Much as she felt she could confide in Charlotte in most other areas, Elizabeth could never bring herself to divulge her initial refusal of Mr. Darcy's hand. She would not have been able to bear the disappointment in Charlotte's eyes, nor the firm admonishment that would follow. Elizabeth remembered all too well her own reaction to Charlotte's accepting of Mr. Collins, voicing protestations in near the same vein as Lady Catherine—well, perhaps not _that_ awful—but the very thought of her thoughtful, intelligent friend forfeiting her life to such a pretentious, simpering…

_Stop it!_ Elizabeth thought. _I am no better!_

Elizabeth came so very close to losing the man she loved out of her own ill-tempered stupidity. How dare she judge Charlotte for making a painstaking choice in the best interest of her future as opposed to her own prideful and cruel rejection of a most worthy gentleman?

"I am so thankful you've come," said Elizabeth, determined to lay those bad memories to rest.

"I wish you so much happiness, Lizzy. You have made a justly wise decision." Charlotte looked over at Darcy, who was engaged in conversation with his sister and Col. Fitzwilliam between frequent glances in Elizabeth's direction. "He is a good man."

"I truly do love him, you know."

"Well, of course you do! You were just far too obstinate to see it!"

"Indeed I was."

"When did you finally realize…?

"Oh, the particulars are not important. Just be satisfied in knowing you were right, Charlotte. You were right all along about Mr. Darcy's cleverly disguised, amiable nature. He not only loves me dearly, he is also full of kindness and courage."

"Courageous, as well? You must tell me, Lizzy."

"Believe me, I shall. Some day. But for now, I should much rather hear about how you are faring with Lady Catherine. Please tell me she has not been too abominable."

"As I said, Lizzy, it is nothing to which I am not familiar. In fact, I am rather cheerful of late."

Indeed, there was an unusual happiness behind Charlotte's eyes, rather than just a polite smile. But there was more than that—a certain glow…

Elizabeth gasped. "Dear Charlotte! Are you…?"

Charlotte began to laugh, nodding her head. "I am, Lizzy. I am due in the spring."

Elizabeth at once threw her arms around her friend in mutual delight.

"I am so happy for you!"

"Oh, Lizzy…it is too much. I cannot tell you…"

"You will be a wonderful mother."

"Do you really think so?"

"Of course! You have entirely too much love to give not to be. Shall I make an announcement?"

"Certainly not, I beg you! This is your day, Mrs. Darcy. Mr. Collins does not even know."

"Not even…? But how on Earth—"

"It is not difficult keeping him in the dark about most things, I daresay. I am only telling _you_ now because I am not sure when I shall see you again. Better face to face rather than in a letter, as you are the only one who could be near as happy as I am." Charlotte then glanced over at her father, the perpetually cheerful Sir William Lucas, as he declared the buffet-style banquet laid out on the long dining table most capital, indeed. "Well, except maybe for Papa."

Both ladies laughed merrily, but were soon interrupted by the braying sound of a displeased Mrs. Bennet.

"Lizzy! Lizzy! What are you about, girl? I have stood by and watched you neglect your husband for the better part of half an hour!"

"It has not been _that_ long, Mama. And it would be most discourteous of me to ignore our wedding guests, especially since I'll not see many of them for ages. As Mr. Darcy tends to be uncomfortable in large gatherings, he was perfectly willing for me to play the part of social butterfly."

"Indeed, my dear," Mr. Bennet interjected, clearly amused by his wife's outburst. "Lizzy is making the proverbial rounds so that valedictions may be made, since Mr. Darcy will be removing her a safe distance from us these next fifty years."

"Really, Papa! You know perfectly well that all at Longbourn are welcome to visit Pemberley whenever you like. And, of course, I shall wish to visit home on occasion, and Jane and—"

"Nonsense, child!" Mrs. Bennet cried. "You must give Mr. Darcy an heir before you even _think_ of gallivanting about the country! Keep yourself available to him so that you may secure your position soon as possible! Then you may be as wild as you like!"

"Mama!"

Mrs. Bennet took Elizabeth's arm. "Oh, what kind of mistress shall you be if you cannot stay by Mr. Darcy's side for your own wedding party? Go to him this instant!"

Mrs. Bennet led her mortified daughter across the ballroom to where Mr. Darcy was standing with Georgiana and Col. Fitzwilliam.

"Mr. Darcy, you are a good man to allow dear Lizzy to say her farewells," said Mrs. Bennet in all contrition. "She was a favorite among _all_ of Hertfordshire, as you may know; however, I assure you she is most eager to begin her life with you, and we shan't be missed a jot in view of what awaits her in Derbyshire! Isn't that right, Lizzy?"

Elizabeth's hands were covering her face in abject humiliation, wherein, at the end of her mother's declaration, she peeked out to her husband and mouthed the words "I'm sorry." With a slight grin, Darcy never took his eyes from Elizabeth as he addressed Mrs. Bennet.

"I am happy to hear it, Madam. I confess I missed her company."

"If I may say, Mrs. Bennet," chimed in Col. Fitzwilliam, thoroughly diverted by the scene before him, "I believe my cousin here has been quietly planning his escape with your daughter since, well…"

"Since the day he laid eyes upon her!" cheered Georgiana quite spontaneously.

"I concur, Miss Darcy," said Sir William with equal fervor. "For Lady Lucas and I could see it plain as day Mr. Darcy's passion for our dear Miss Elizabeth as far back as the party at our own Lucas Lodge when she refused to dance with him, despite all evidence of an attraction. And now here we are on this joyous occasion. Most capital!"

Now both Darcy and Elizabeth were showing their embarrassment as the oblivious Mr. Collins inopportunely descended to exacerbate their discomfort.

"And as my benefactress Lady Catherine has condescended most generously to provide me with the patronage that allows me and my dear Charlotte to enjoy a livelihood fully flourished, so has Mr. Darcy bestowed the gift of distinction to my cousin Elizabeth, who, though having no way of knowing so at the time, wisely refused an offer made by none other than myself just one year prior..."

Elizabeth had no time to assess the myriad of expressions that crossed her husband's face during Mr. Collins's address, as her full concentration was on silencing her idiot cousin before he mentioned her ladyship's unfortunate absence due to her passionate objections to their union.

"…Which, at the time, made little sense in light of her situation, but has now upon this occasion elevated her worth considerably even though—

"Thank you, Mr. Collins!" Elizabeth exclaimed in near desperation. "I am most honored, indeed. But let us not forget there is another couple in the room just as worthy of our attention—my dear sister, Jane Bingley, who is as kind as she is beautiful, and Mr. Bingley, who is one of the most amiable gentlemen of my acquaintance."

Jane and Bingley smiled timorously as all eyes turned to them. Praises were then sung in _that_ handsome and happy couple's direction, with all interest at last shifted away from Mr. and Mrs. Darcy. With a sigh of relief, Elizabeth looked up into her husband's questioning eyes.

"Perhaps it is time for us to depart."

Darcy nodded in agreement.

Half an hour later, with tears in her eyes, Elizabeth waved and said many goodbyes out of the window as the coach departed Netherfield, assuring everyone that she would write soon. She had moments earlier embraced Jane tightly, making her and her husband promise that they would visit Pemberley for Christmas, and she could swear she spotted some wetness in her own father's eyes when he kissed her cheek.

When Netherfield was finally out of sight, Elizabeth settled into her seat, wiping the tears away before addressing her husband, who was already quite relaxed by her side, watching her every move with an unreadable expression.

"Forgive me," Elizabeth said, still composing herself. She laughed nervously. "Do not interpret that these are tears of sadness. They truly are not. I am simply…overcome!"

Without a word, Darcy took her hand and held it in his own. He appeared to study her small fingers, lightly tracing each of them. Many moments passed before he then raised the hand to his lips and kissed it gently, reverently. Elizabeth, too moved to speak, felt utterly foolish for any apprehension she had felt upon leaving all her family and friends behind. As much as they would be missed, it was the man before her who now meant everything, for she clearly meant everything to him. Her future was now before her, and her past must be left in Hertfordshire without regret and with only fond memories, and some not so fond, as she takes this momentous step toward lifelong felicity with this man she loved.

Finally, he looked at her as if to speak, though Elizabeth was wholly unprepared for what was said.

"Mr. Collins asked for your hand?"

Elizabeth groaned upon the memory of that ill-bred man's thoughtless remarks to everyone in attendance.

"He did."


	4. Part 4

_So that Collins had indeed proposed._

As Darcy pondered when this might have occurred, his mind's eye conjured the Netherfield ball of last November and how, as he observed quite helplessly, Collins had remained as near to Elizabeth's side as possible while she looked about the room undoubtedly for George Wickham. Darcy had loathed watching Elizabeth first seeking out _any_ man other than himself, never mind a man so despised, then dancing with such a graceless twit as Collins, who had not the self-awareness to check his impertinent babbling in regards to the superior rank of his patroness in Kent. Darcy could plainly see Elizabeth's boredom at having to remain shackled to Collins most of the evening for her mother's sake, while Mrs. Bennet rattled on about finding rich men for her other daughters. More than anything, he wanted to rescue her, for even then, Darcy truly believed Elizabeth Bennet belonged by _his_ side that memorable evening and no other's, least of all _that_ man's. It was this ardent belief, along with a longing he was unable at that time to fully comprehend, that gave him the courage to ask Elizabeth to dance once again after having been heretofore denied. When she accepted, albeit reluctantly, he dared not show his delight; and when they argued most unpleasantly during the dance, about blasted _Wickham_ no less, he dared not show his indignation, for he had hoped to gain her favor after having apparently offended her in the past time and time again.

Even then, _even then_, Darcy was certain Elizabeth would have accepted his hand had he proposed that tumultuous evening, and, consequently, had quietly promised himself after that bittersweet dance that he should go straightaway to London to begin the process of forgetting her, that he should no longer encourage her, that it would be most unfair to get her hopes up…

The humor in remembrance of his utter idiocy struck him quite unexpectedly, and an involuntary fit of laughter ensued.

To Elizabeth's surprise, Darcy began laughing after having been in silent reflection for several minutes. It was the first time she had ever heard him _really_ laugh, and indeed she enjoyed the resounding baritone sound; but unsure as to the reason for the laughter, she crossed her arms impatiently, since the last thing said was the confirmation of her cousin's proposal. As his chortling continued, Elizabeth could hardly contain her own amusement, nor her curiosity.

"May I ask what you find so amusing, Mr. Darcy?"

Darcy turned to her, his laughter having finally subsided, and he simply gazed upon her in that familiar way. The cold November weather adversely effected the interior of the lavish carriage, and her crossed arms gave way to embracing herself to keep warm. This gesture prompted Darcy to reach under the seat and pull out a blanket, wherein he unfolded it, then wrapped it about her shoulders.

"Forgive me, Mrs. Darcy," he said as he bundled her up securely.

"Thank you, sir. Now are you going to tell me what was so diverting?"

Darcy began untying her bonnet. "It was just after the ball, was it not? When he proposed?"

"It was."

Darcy removed the bonnet completely and tossed it to the empty seat opposite them, followed by his own topper. He then gathered her into the further warmth of his arms. "And you refused him immediately?"

"Of course! Though Mama was exceedingly cross about it, declaring she would never see me again if I did not accept him."

Darcy frowned. Elizabeth reached up and smoothed his furrowed brow with her fingers.

"But Papa was my champion that day, for he declared that _he_ would never see me again if I _did_."

Elizabeth had hoped this account would make him laugh again, but Darcy only smiled slightly, taking her hand and studying it yet again. Clearly he was troubled.

"What is it, my dear?" She asked.

"I cannot make sport of him. I think only of my own slipshod proposal, all my insupportable presumptions—that's why I was laughing. Not at him, but at myself. I cannot help but wonder if Mr. Collins were even a tenth as insulting as I upon first declaring my intentions."

"I daresay his complete and utter lack of sincere regard was an insult in and of itself, though he gave his farce of a presentation cordially enough," Elizabeth replied. When this assertion failed to give her husband comfort, she sighed and added, "Upon my word, will we ever put the past behind us?"

"You may want to forget that awful day in Hunsford, but I do not. It is a reminder of what I once was and must never be again, for if any man needed dressing down that day, it was I. You must promise to do so in the future, as well, should the occasion arise."

"I am happy to oblige, sir. But only if _you_ promise to refrain from further self-reproach."

Elizabeth drew his face to hers and kissed him softly, which he returned. Before long, the coach was adequately warm enough for the both of them.

"I do not understand why Aunt and Uncle could not have attended the wedding," Georgiana said with an air of petulance to Col. Fitzwilliam, who was sitting in the seat opposite her in the coach that was fully on its way to his family's townhouse in London. Georgiana's companion, Mrs. Annesley, remained silent by her side, knitting something or another. It was a long way to the Matlock estate in Derbyshire where Georgiana would spend a fortnight while the Darcys honeymooned, and Fitzwilliam had decided they should rest a few days in London before making the journey.

"Mother and Father were a bit put out by your brother's hasty decision," Fitzwilliam said in response to her complaint.

"It was not _hasty_!"

"Not to you or I, but Darcy's private nature prevented him from relating the full breadth of their relationship in his letter. He did not even bring Elizabeth to meet them in Matlock during their engagement."

"He knew they would not have approved."

"Only because he kept them entirely in the dark in regards to her before writing a brief and perfunctory note declaring his betrothal and inviting them to attend their nuptials in the _country_. Of course they would not have approved. Of course they did not attend. And Darcy shall be made to answer for what he's done, I daresay."

Georgiana opened her mouth to protest, but Fitzwilliam put up his hand to halt her.

"It does not matter, Georgie, how much they are in love. There are rules of propriety in terms of introducing ones intended to the family, and not just in _le bon ton_."

"I wrote to them and described thoroughly how wonderful she is and how much William loves her! That should be well enough to win their approval!"

"Really? Tell me more about this illusory land of _Should_."

"Oh! How I hate it when you mock me! You treat me like a child."

Fitzwilliam could not help but laugh as he threw his hands up in surrender. "No longer, dearest! No longer! Indeed, you will be coming out before long. Next year, if I am not mistaken."

"Not that I am looking forward to it. Marriage is the furthest thing from my mind, Richard. I should much rather be practicing duets with my new sister-in-law.

Richard chose his words carefully. "Might this be your shyness talking?"

"No it is not!" She said sharply. "I simply have little regard for Society or the season and have no wish to be presented any time soon for the perusal of fortune-hunting riff-raff."

"And yet it is what _all_ debutantes in possession of a sizable dowry must suffer eventually. Might as well get it over and done, Georgie; however, should you wish it, your brother would be willing to postpone it another year, for he is in no hurry for you to grow up and leave him, I assure you."

Georgiana stared pensively out the window for several moments before she finally looked at her cousin and said in all finality, "I shall discuss it with Elizabeth. And when we arrive in Matlock, I shall tell Aunt and Uncle myself of my displeasure at their abstention."

Fitzwilliam wanted to laugh again, but dared not._ That should be most entertaining, indeed._

The Darcys carriage reached London just before sundown, and the couple had fallen asleep nestled together well before then as neither bride nor groom had slept more than an hour the night before the wedding. The sound of hooves against the cobblestone streets finally awoke Darcy, who was leaning against one side of the carriage with one arm fully draped around his napping wife still wrapped in the blanket. He kissed her hair before gently rousing her.

"Wake up, dearest. We are in London."

Elizabeth yawned and stretched. "Lord bless me, I had not meant to sleep so long."

"I'm afraid we are both guilty of that. It should not be long now."

The last statement for Darcy carried a double meaning unbeknownst to Elizabeth. At least, he hoped as much, for he felt he was in the final stretch of the most arduous journey of his entire life thus far. Everything he had suffered in the past was prologue to the upcoming moment he would enter his home with Elizabeth on his arm as his _wife_. He had brought her to Darcy House but once during their engagement in preparation for what she was to expect. She had met the staff, including Mrs. Chapman, the housekeeper these last fifteen years, and Peters, the butler, who had served at least twenty. Elizabeth had been overwhelmed at first, clearly unaccustomed to such luxury, but Darcy did all he could to put her mind at ease, assuring her that she need not be apprehensive about giving orders, that the servants would treat her with all the respect and subservience owing to Mrs. Darcy. The most unnerving part of the tour was when he showed Elizabeth her rooms on the second floor, which had not been in use since well before his mother died. It was the first time he had ever been in a bedroom with her, and they were alone!—for they had snuck off while her Uncle Gardiner, acting as chaperone, was busy perusing the vast library. As Elizabeth looked about the lavish room with admiration, a rush of emotion nearly overpowered Darcy. The vision of her exploring these chambers reminded him so much of his mother that he had to excuse himself into the hallway lest he burst into tears. He could not explain it at all, as she looked nothing like Anne Darcy, nor were their personalities similar in any way. Georgiana far more resembled their mother both in countenance and character than Elizabeth; therefore, Darcy concluded that it must have been the magnitude of knowing the room that had lay dormant for so many years would be brought to life once again and by the only woman meant to reside there, the woman so nearly lost to him forever who was now _half_ of him forever. Darcy had collected himself just before Elizabeth entered the hallway in evident concern.

"William?"

He was leaning against the wall and took great comfort just in hearing his name upon her lips. All was right and well. "Forgive me," he said simply.

"There is nothing to forgive. What discomposed you so?"

"Nothing at all. Do you like your room? Mrs. Chapman has been instructed to have it altered in any way you wish—"

"Fitzwilliam Darcy, do not dare dismiss my care for you," Elizabeth ordered, hands on her hips. The pretty picture she made forced him to smile before he responded,

"A mere bout of anxiety." He shrugged. "Such moments happen from time to time, but they pass quickly. There is hardly a need for concern."

Elizabeth looked around to make sure no one was watching, then eased over to her fiancé and put her arms around his waist. "I should like to think I can _relieve_ these moments of distress, not cause them."

"Do not be silly." Darcy cupped her face in his hands and kissed her firm on the lips. "There," he said. "You have relieved me."

"I do not believe you."

He sighed in frustration. "And how can I convince you, my dear?"

She smiled up at him. "I am not certain. It may take years before I am persuaded you are well at ease."

"I do not think men are meant to be fully _at ease_. Such a thing leads to complacency, which leads to lethargy, which leads to generational deterioration."

"I refuse to accept that your being free of perpetual angst will lead to the destruction of civilization as we know it!"

"We are called upon _not_ to be in every way comfortable, but to take charge and take care of those we love and everything for which we are responsible—"

"And _we_ are called upon to take care of those _we_ love," Elizabeth insisted. "Just as you refuse to rest in your duties, I shall not rest in mine, Mr. Darcy."

She kissed him, then lay her head upon his chest, embracing him tightly. They stood that way a few silent minutes, and finally he allowed his body to relax and melt in to hers. For a brief time, he truly felt the relief of which she spoke and looked forward to many more such moments in the future.

Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, having arrived at Darcy House an hour before, sat at the table in the smaller dining room of the lavish townhouse as courses were served to them by Darcy's most efficient kitchen staff. They had prepared an elegant meal for the newlyweds with a menu carefully selected by Mrs. Chapman, who was thorough enough to inquire about Mrs. Darcy's favorite dishes. Despite such a tasty spread before them, the couple picked at their food as though it were nothing more than last night's mutton. Despite wishing she could accommodate those who worked so hard to please them, Elizabeth found it difficult to eat more than a few bites, besieged as she was by her blasted nerves. Still, she could not help but find humor in the situation and looked over at her husband, who continued to stare blankly down at his plate.

"It appears neither of us carry much of an appetite this evening, Mr. Darcy."

Darcy roused from his momentary stupor. "Hm?"

Elizabeth smiled, reaching over to take his hand. "Tell me what is on your mind, sir—and I shall do the same."

"I shall not attempt to put into words what is on my mind, madam, for I shall fail miserably."

"Very well, then I suppose I must break the silence by telling you what a bundle of nerves I am at this moment. With all due respect to your diligent staff, I could not possibly eat what is before me. Do you feel the same, Mr. Darcy?"

"I confess for myself it is more than nerves. It is utter bewilderment that you are in my home. _Our_ home. It is…it is a feeling with which I am not at all familiar. More than elation, for I have felt _that_ since you accepted me. I am reflecting on how this all came to pass and how, but for your tour of the lakes last summer with the Gardiners and visit to Pemberley by happenstance, we would not presently be in this room. You would not be holding my hand. You would not be my wife."

Elizabeth heart ached at his words and was indeed near the point of tears as he continued speaking ostensibly to himself:

"It makes me wonder how much of my own effort was required and how much good fortune or something greater may have been at work. But perhaps it is best not to mull over such matters."

At this, Elizabeth felt compelled to respond. "I have thought about these things, as well, and I have concluded that, while it a mere coincidence we were reunited, it was through a series of _choices_ that the thread binding us together—while that thread bended and pulled and stretched to no end—it never gave way. My presence here now is _not_ the result of good fortune. It was good fortune you were born a Darcy, but through your efforts that I shall die one. For that, I shall be forever thankful."

Elizabeth felt the gentle squeezing of her hand in response, as well as her husband's usual intense stare that she often found difficult to decipher. Tonight, however, she understood fully his meaning—and abject desire—behind those dark eyes. Dare she challenge him?

"I find I am very tired from the activities of the day," she said in a breathier voice than usual with the hope that she did not sound too ridiculous. "I should like to retire early if you don't mind."

Elizabeth stood, prompting Darcy to do the same as he was always trained to do.

"Anna shall attend you, one of our Pemberley maids sent by Mrs. Reynolds. I was assured she would suit you well."

"Of course. I thank you, sir."

Elizabeth passed behind him on her way out of the dining room, upon which she heard over her shoulder, "How long do you need?"

The question halted her footsteps, and she replied, not daring to meet his eyes lest the dinner table serve as the altar for their first conjugal union, "Half an hour."

Elizabeth then hastily left the room, half wondering as she headed in the direction of her chambers if she would hear her husband's footsteps behind her directly. Fortunately for her nerves, she did not.


	5. Part 5

Later she lay in the warm bath, trying to relax, but finding it most difficult, tormented as she was with thoughts of her husband—his eyes, his handsome face, his virility, his…tallness. And how in just a few minutes he would be coming to her to make her his. She wondered what he was doing at that very moment in his adjoining bedroom. Was he as nervous as she? Would he be gentle? She was not so naïve as to believe him inexperienced, though she hated the very thought of him having knowledge of other women, even from years ago. Finally, she grudgingly admitted to herself that she must count on him to guide her through the lovemaking process, and she was certain—grateful, even—that he would be a most willing and capable teacher.

"Mrs. Darcy? I have your bedclothes ready."

"Thank you, Anna."

Elizabeth had instructed Anna to locate the nightgown given to her by her Aunt Gardiner as a wedding gift—the silky, sheer one with the deep neckline that would expose not only much of her bosom, but also her back near down to the waist! Elizabeth had blushed upon first receiving the gift in the presence of her aunt and Jane, who had turned her own shade of crimson at receiving a similar rendition.

"Aunt, I could not possibly!" Elizabeth had said.

"Nor I! What will he think of me?" Jane concurred.

"Oh, don't be so missish, dear girls. I have seen the way your men look at you, so it is not as though you shall be wearing them for long."

The two sisters gasped. Mrs. Gardiner smiled and shook her head.

"You are too innocent to comprehend at present, but you will understand soon enough the gift that is passion with your husband. Enjoy it, ladies, for felicity in the bedroom is a rare thing as so few of us marry for love."

Once again, the girls had bombarded their aunt with questions, but Mrs. Gardiner merely excused herself and left the room with a knowing smile.

"I have your towel, m'um."

Elizabeth was jolted from her reverie as Anna held out a fresh towel for her. Elizabeth stepped out of the bath and dried herself with her abigail's assistance.

"Are you married, Anna?"

"Aye, m'um, just a year ago. My husband's an under-butler at Pemberley."

"And were you nervous on your wedding night?"

Anna seemed surprised that her new mistress was speaking to her on such equal terms, but answered obligingly, "I was, m'um."

Elizabeth suddenly checked herself. "Forgive me, Anna. That was most improper. I should not have asked."

"I understand how you feel, Mrs. Darcy. A glass of wine would help."

Elizabeth slipped on the nightgown, followed by a beautiful new dressing gown she understood to be hand-picked by Mrs. Chapman at the master's request. She felt at the pins keeping her hair in place.

"Should I wear my hair down?"

"Most definitely, m'um! You have such lovely curls. And I understand lavender is your scent of choice. Permit me."

Elizabeth spent the next ten minutes allowing Anna to prepare her before the girl excused herself upon her mistress's approval and assurance that she would not be needed for the rest of the evening. Elizabeth sat at her dressing table, taking sips of wine, looking at her reflection in the mirror. She was no longer a running, jumping, tree-climbing, country maiden, but a married woman of the World. She so wanted her husband to be pleased with her, to live up to the standard of excellence set upon himself. Pondering this, something caught her eye on the dressing table—a box. A box wrapped in gold paper with a note attached.

_Why did Anna not mention this? Perhaps she did not notice, either._

Setting down the wine glass, Elizabeth took the note from the gift, which read:

_Could I be what I have been, _

_ And could I see what I have seen—_

_ Could I repose upon the breast_

_ Which once my warmest wishes blest—_

_ I should not seek another zone, _

_ Because I cannot love but one._

Elizabeth carefully removed the wrapping to reveal a case no doubt containing a necklace. She held her breath upon lifting the lid, then exhaled upon the sight of a single strand of pearls with a diamond cluster clasp.

"Oh, William," she whispered.

"You found your gift, I see," a masculine voice answered.

Elizabeth hardly had to time to turn before Darcy appeared behind her, laying his hands upon her shoulders. He was wearing an elegant robe over a nightshirt untied at the neck to expose his bare chest. The privilege of seeing him so informally attired pleased her immensely, and she looked forward to many years' worth of nights where she could look upon him as no one else could. Admiring and adoring him through the mirror, she took one of his hands and kissed it.

"Will you ever cease to astonish me, dear husband?" Elizabeth said as he leaned forward and took the pearls from their decorative encasement. "I had no idea you were an admirer of Byron, sir."

Darcy delicately adorned her neck with the pearls.

"More of an enthusiast. I choose very carefully whom I _admire_," he said as he snapped the necklace in place.

Elizabeth tentatively raised her hand to her neck, almost fearing to touch something so precious.

"They are exquisite," she said. "But William, you must know that I do not require such gifts—"

"Are you rejecting me again, Mrs. Darcy?"

Elizabeth at once stood to face him in utter repentance. "Of course not! Oh, my sweetheart, do not think—"

Darcy broke into laughter, embracing her tightly and kissing her fretful face. Realizing the jest, she pounded his chest with both fists.

"Oh! Insufferable man!"

Her husband stifled any further admonishment with a thorough, passionate kiss that she wholeheartedly returned as he ran his hands over the silky fabric of her dressing gown, a thin obstruction he slipped off of her easily as the first measure in exploring her body. The feeling of his hands on the bare skin of her back made her moan against his mouth, and she wrapped her arms around his neck as he began touching her in places once forbidden before this very evening. She was not afraid, for she felt such a need to be as close to this man as heaven allowed that all apprehension dissipated the instant his trembling hands moved over her relentlessly but tenderly. Her eyes remained closed and their lips never parted as she felt him scoop her up into his arms and carry her to the bed—whose bed it was, his or hers, remained unclear; not that she cared, for his hands and lips continued their seemingly endless journey that robbed her of all reason, transcending her imagination and carrying her off into oblivion. She supposed herself mad, desperate even, while helping to remove his clothing. Surely such wanton behavior was unseemly, but it was too late. And once she felt the warmth of his bare skin against hers, she moaned again in rapturous surrender, however reluctant she was to look upon him lest she become overwhelmed by what was happening to her. After countless minutes, after an eternity of ecstasy, she felt her nightgown being lifted over her head and off of her body, upon which she heard her husband's coarse plea: "Lizzy!"

She opened her eyes to see him fully unclothed and marveled at his divinely masculine form hovering over her. His dark eyes bore into hers, and she nodded her consent, sensing both his concern for her welfare, as well as the ardent need to consummate their love. She touched him brazenly, upon which he exhaled and crushed his mouth against hers, wherein she had to remind herself between kisses to breathe. Their flesh pressed together, and she felt his weight upon her with only faint candlelight to render one lover barely visible to the other. As she most willingly and joyfully gave herself to her beloved, Elizabeth at last fully understood what her Aunt Gardiner had meant. She needed no instruction, no books, and no counsel on how to make love to her husband, for nature would indeed take its course. Her inhibition where he was concerned was now a thing of the past, and with a few quick movements, her girlhood was gone. She smiled as both tears of pain and pleasure ran down her cheeks and reveled in the sensation of hot breath against her ear. When at last the storm subsided, they neither of them felt compelled to leave their embrace.

Charlotte Collins looked over at her husband sitting across from her in the carriage on the way to Kent, patiently waiting for the proper moment to tell him of her condition. A marriage such as theirs was not uncommon, but they probably spoke less to one another than most couples on a daily basis—not out of resentment or mutual disdain, but because they simply had little about which to discuss beyond the order of the day. These brief conversations took place routinely at the breakfast table; however, the day after Lizzy and Jane's wedding had been an exception, for on this particular morning and every morning for the past week, she and Mr. Collins had dined with the entire Lucas family, including Lady Lucas, Charlotte's younger brother Henry, who had recently announced his own engagement, brother Christian, who was a Meryton law clerk of twenty-three, Maria, now sixteen and well out, and twelve-year-old Sophie, who ever looked up to Maria. And of course there was Sir William, who rattled away endlessly about the upcoming events in Meryton while Lady Lucas was teaching her youngest daughters the finer arts of local gossip. Mr. Collins, meanwhile, had kept his eyes on his plate and ate his ham and eggs in silence, ignoring her family completely, for the Lucas's realized early into their daughter's marriage that Mr. Collins's interests began and ended with his duties in Hunsford, and that the less they addressed him, the less they had to hear a response somehow calling to attention her ladyship, her estate, his parish, or his garden. The table was as much of a raucous as usual, so Charlotte did not blame Mr. Collins for tuning them out for his own sanity. For a few moments, she had considered making an announcement to all that her husband should soon have an heir, her parents a grandchild, and her siblings a new niece or nephew. But the right moment to make such an announcement never seemed to present itself, and therefore she had decided that a letter to her family upon returning home would do just as well. Yes, the carriage ride home would be the most convenient and proper time for her to share with Mr. Collins her—_their-_life-changing news.

She watched her husband quietly as he read a new book of sermons and marked various pages, no doubt searching for passages that might please her ladyship, for he had been a nervous wreck since the day he had informed Lady Catherine of the gossip concerning her nephew's intentions to marry Elizabeth Bennet, a young woman whose manners Lady Catherine had already thought—after Lizzy's extended visit to the parsonage last Easter—could use some improvement given her opinions unbecoming of a lady in her station. Ever since the formal announcement of Mr. Darcy's betrothal, Mr. Collins had considered himself most unfortunate to be the cousin of such an impertinent, headstrong hoyden, and had told her ladyship as much whenever possible; but his pleas for clemency in the face of "this whole awful affair" fell on deaf ears, for since neither Lizzy nor Mr. Darcy were readily available to censure at length, the cousin of that "impudent chit" would have to do; therefore, Mr. Collins would be paying the price for Elizabeth's marriage to her nephew for the duration. He would continue to grovel and agree with whatever her ladyship said in regards to the Darcys, and hopefully time would heal the wound. Perhaps this bit of news would ease his mind in some way—or perhaps it would only add undue stress. In any case, she could not see the use in delaying this conversation any longer.

"My dear, I have need to discuss the upstairs guest room."

Several moments passed before Mr. Collins looked up from his book. "Did you say something, my dear?"

"I did, sir. The upstairs guest room, the corner room—you know, the one situated for Eliza when last she visited…"

Mr. Collins's brow furrowed as though straining to comprehend her meaning. "Yes?" He asked simply.

"I should like to modify the room in accordance with an upcoming…change in our circumstances."

Now Mr. Collins was truly baffled. "I am afraid I do not take your meaning, Mrs. Collins."

"I mean that the room will have to be _altered_ in the very near future, my dear—for I am with child."

A long silence ensued as Charlotte allowed the news to permeate. Her husband's expression must have changed no less than half a dozen times before he finally asked, "You are certain?"

Charlotte nodded. "I started feeling the symptoms about a month ago, and Dr. Thompson confirmed my suspicions just before we left Hunsford for the wedding."

"Dear Lord…oh, my dear wife—this is most excellent news!"

Charlotte smiled timidly at this favorable response—not that she feared the reverse, but his apparent cheer was a pleasant surprise. Unfortunately, he continued:

"I was most confident this day would come sooner or later, but the timing of such a revelation could not be better, dear wife—for I have been searching for a more agreeable digression that may divert Lady Catherine's current frame of mind, and I am certain your condition is just the thing to lift her spirits. We must welcome her ladyship's counsel in all regards to your confinement and express gratitude at every turn, do you hear? Ah, this is grand news, indeed!"

He closed his book at that moment and looked out the window of the carriage as though a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

"I am glad you are pleased, my dear," said Charlotte, entirely _un_surprised by such a soliloquy. This in no way tempered _her_ current frame of mind, for she neither needed nor desired her husband to share in her joy in the very same vein as she. He did not even bother to inquire about her seeing Dr. Thompson without his knowledge—again, no matter. Just his approval was enough, and she knew Mr. Collins would be little in the way once the baby was born. As for Lady Catherine, Charlotte would gladly bear her guidance and take all of her suggestions to heart just as Mr. Collins required. Indeed, all of her unquestioning compliance was a small price to pay for the happiness of becoming a mother. She had learned long ago how to handle Lady Catherine's constant interference—or _influence,_ in her home. This child was her own piece of the world, her one true joy in life, someone to love forever and unconditionally, and no one could take that away from her.


	6. Part 6

_**DISCLAIMER**_

This is a slight revision of an excerpt I had posted earlier after feedback indicated the previous draft was a bit unbelievable. Though I am no Austen purist and like the idea of Darcy and Lizzy shagging each other's brains out on their wedding night, I hope this draft is more acceptable. Please let me know :-)

_ She is gone!_

Darcy awakened suddenly from a bothersome dream that had faded away but for those penetrating words that caused him to sit straight up in bed, searching frantically for his wife. To his relief, he _had_ imagined such an exclamation, as she was lying by his side in a deep and peaceful slumber. He touched the thick curls that blanketed her otherwise exposed upper body, then, feeling a chill in the room, covered her with the counterpane up to her lovely neck. As he fully came to his senses, he realized it was near dawn, and they both of them had slept little throughout the night. Darcy contritely recalled how he had disturbed Elizabeth's rest no less than four times due to the stirrings of arousal that would not give way till he felt her beneath him once again, though he was at least charitable enough not to fully join with her so that she may rest that part of her aching body. She was both accommodating and passionate as he both gave her pleasure and took his own in other ways, but, as he watched her sleep, the pangs of guilt disturbed him greatly. Was he an _animal_? At the moment, he felt most certainly that he was no gentleman! He also felt the gentle rumblings of his empty stomach, which brought him to mind the conversation he'd had many hours before with his longtime valet, Fleming, who had dutifully helped him prepare for his first night as a married man.

"Fleming, you must convey my apologies to the kitchen staff and tell them how exceedingly pleased I am with their efforts. I suppose I did not anticipate…Mrs. Darcy's fatigue."

"Not at all, sir," said Fleming with a slight smile. "You must remember that anticipation is a gift your servants possesses in abundance, for they had already prepared for such a contingency."

"I see," said Darcy, a little embarrassed.

"Rest assured, sir, that the meal shall not go to waste. You only need to ring, and a tray shall be brought up directly. Properly warmed, of course."

"Right. Well, excellent. Thank you, Fleming." Now fully in his nightclothes, Darcy was standing in front of the fire, staring thoughtfully into the flames.

"Will that be all, sir?"

"Yes. No, wait—what time do you have?"

"It is seventeen past the hour of eight, sir."

_Nearly half an hour has passed. Should I give her more time? It may alarm her if I appear overzealous. Perhaps I should wait a bit longer. _

Fleming broke the tense silence in the room when he finally said, "And may I say a hearty congratulations, sir, in regards to your nuptials? Mrs. Darcy is a lovely woman, indeed."

"Thank you, Fleming. Wait—did you say 'lovely' or 'lucky?'"

"I…I said 'lovely,' sir. Though I daresay 'lucky' would also be an apt description—"

"On _that_ you are wrong, Fleming. I must inform you of this now, as I understand those in my employ possess not only the gift of anticipation, but also the gift of idle gossip."

Fleming now appeared quite nervous, no doubt under the impression that he had put his foot in his mouth. "Sir, I swear I meant no disrespect toward the lady—"

Darcy put up his hand to silence him. "I am not censuring you, Fleming; rather I am _requesting_ that you as my valet convey these words to all working within the walls of _any_ Darcy manor from the master's lips himself—that _I_ am the lucky one. Of all I possess, from here to Pemberley and beyond, none is more valuable than that woman in the next room. I want that made quite clear, Fleming, for I will not tolerate speculation of any kind in regards to Mrs. Darcy—not in this house or any other."

"Y-yes, sir. I shall make it perfectly clear, sir."

Darcy smiled at him reassuringly and patted him on the back. "Thank you, Fleming. You may retire. I shall ring in the morning if anything is needed."

Darcy laughed to himself at the memory of poor Fleming scurrying out of the room. It was not his intention to frighten the man, but Darcy was well aware of the incessant natter among servants, who often saw the gentry as an endless source of entertainment—and to be fair were often _used_ as entertainment themselves by certain rakes in his own class. He ignored the rampant whisperings most of the time, as he felt it a minor drawback of leading a privileged life, besides the fact that it was best to have nothing to hide so that one may therefore hide nothing. But Elizabeth's name being bandied about—theories and assumptions about her lack of wealth and connections and how such a woman came to be Mrs. Darcy—such a thing would not be borne! And as Fleming was most proficient, fiercely loyal and accompanied him most everywhere, Darcy was certain he could count on the message reaching the ears of all in his servitude within a short span of time.

At the moment, however, the master of the home was famished, and he imagined Elizabeth would feel the same when she awakened. He robed himself and departed her room in order to summon Fleming, who appeared within minutes, still in his nightclothes, for it was not yet daybreak and few servants would be up and about at this hour. Darcy apologized for ringing so prematurely and stated simply that he wanted to make sure the fires were lit and that there would be plenty to eat and drink for both himself and Mrs. Darcy before she awakened. Indeed, the more Darcy explained the matter, the more excited he became at the prospect of surprising his bride with breakfast in bed. A rush of utter delight flowed through him as he finished his instructions and told his man to make haste. Fleming assured all would be brought to Mrs. Darcy's room quickly as possible.

"No! Not her room," Darcy said in a whisper. "We do not want to wake her. Deliver everything to _my_ room and have the fires lit at once."

"Yes, sir," Fleming whispered back before promptly setting out.

Thrilled as a child on Christmas morning, Darcy tiptoed back into his wife's room, disrobed, and slipped back into her bed as surreptitiously as possible. A few moments later, a chamber maid quietly stepped in and proceeded to light the fire. Darcy, lying still as possible, actually prayed that Elizabeth would not stir, though he knew the maids were well versed in the practice of stealthily stoking a fireplace. Darcy exhaled after the girl exited as silently as she had entered. Had he known her name, he would have made sure to have an extra sixpence dispensed in her week's pay, glad as he was that everything was falling into place quite nicely. At long last, he would feel the pleasure of holding Elizabeth in his arms while she slept, something he was unable to do last night without becoming impassioned. Tucking her bottom against his abdomen, he enclosed her lovely, naked form in his embrace and breathed in the intoxicating scent of her hair. Though well settled, he was neither tired nor aroused, but rather at peace, daydreaming about the future they would share much as he had during the days when she was always in his thoughts but entirely out of reach. Of course, the grim and dark thoughts also intruded, but he managed to cast them aside for the time being—for her proximity never failed to bring him comfort—and instead replace them with more agreeable deliberations. What would their children look like? What would it be like to show her _all_ of Pemberley's grounds—on horseback, perhaps—or to sleigh ride with her in the winter? Surely the staff and the tenants shall adore her, but how long could he have her all to himself before inevitably introducing her to his Aunt and Uncle Matlock and the rest of London Society? Surely Lady Matlock would insist on having a ball—such a tiresome event of which he had no use. Still, if Elizabeth should appreciate it, much as she enjoys dancing…

During this reverie, she began to awaken, stirring slightly, and he kissed her temple. She entwined her fingers with his, and he smiled into her hair as she sighed, "Good morning, Mr. Darcy."

"It is barely that, Mrs. Darcy," he said. "You may sleep longer if you wish."

She turned to face him with a yawn and nestled into his chest. "I am far too hungry to sleep longer."

_Bravo!_ Darcy thought. The timing could not be more brilliant.

"Then we must remedy that, shall we not?"

He arose enthusiastically and robed himself once again, then found her own nightclothes laying scattered on the floor and handed them to her as she sat up in surprise.

"The fire is already lit!"

"So it is," he said with a grin. "Come, make haste—_No!_ Wait there. Do not move."

Darcy hurried into his adjoining bedroom and shut the door.

Elizabeth sat still on the bed, her arms folded around her legs, waiting for her uncharacteristically exuberant husband to return. She felt the string of pearls that still clung to her neck, and her head began swimming with the memories of all they had done the night before—his kisses, the way he touched her—the way she touched _him_! It was the most magnificent experience of her life, and she loved how he was as reluctant for it to end as she, for he had resumed their lovemaking throughout the night, gently but determinedly waking her several times and teaching her how much more there was to physical love than mere copulation. It all felt like a dream, but she knew what they had shared was as true and genuine as the pearls around her neck, even if the occurrence seemed a blur in retrospect.

A few moments later, Darcy reappeared, closing the door behind him, a look of disappointment on his face.

"Whatever is the matter?" Elizabeth asked.

"Nothing of significance. Just…apparently a little more time is needed."

"Need for what, my dear?"

"Fleming will knock when all is ready."

Darcy sat on the edge of the bed, his shoulders slumped. Was he actually pouting? Elizabeth came up behind him and threw her arms around his shoulders, whispering into his ear.

"Why, Mr. Darcy—were you going to surprise me?" She planted tiny kisses on his neck. "Have I told you this morning what a marvelous man you are?"

His mouth finally crooked into a smile, tempting one of his dimples to appear. "No, you have not."

Playfully she let him go and lay back down in bed, stretching like a house cat. "Pity. Well, it _is_ still early, after all."

Darcy turned and proceeded to climb atop her, his eyes full of mischief. She could not help but laugh. Could anyone love someone as much as she loved her husband at this moment? Trapping her beneath him, he clasped her hands with his and brought them over her head. His lips barely brushed against hers as he murmured, "Yes, it is _very_ early. There is time for many things."

She tried to kiss him, but he pulled away just out of her reach. She sighed with longing and decided he had won their bout of teasing this round. He allowed her one kiss, but would not release her hands. Such sweet agony was bound to drive her mad if he continued, which, judging from his leer, was exactly what he wanted.

"William…" she pleaded.

He kissed her again briefly and pulled away once again. _Insufferable man._

"I want to hold you," she said in a near whimper.

His will buckled upon her plea, and he claimed her lips violently. He loosened his grip enough for her to release herself and wrap her arms tightly around him. He raised the hem of her nightgown to caress her thighs, and she proceeded to untie his robe. His lips tore from hers to explore wildly, from her chin, down her neck, along her breasts, and back up to dust her face with kisses. Soon as the lovers were ready to complete one another came a most untimely knock at the door.

"Thank you, Fleming!" Darcy answered in as contained a voice as possible under the circumstances. Hardly noticing the interruption, Elizabeth ran her hands through his hair and brought his mouth down to hers once again. After many moments, Darcy stopped for air, his mouth hovering over hers, and they breathed each other's breath.

"God, Lizzy...you are—"

"Will there be anything else, sir?"

"Be gone, man!" Darcy shouted at the door, his patience at an end. Conversely, Elizabeth could not help but laugh uproariously, and her husband finally collapsed upon her in defeat. The moment had passed, their passion replaced with her own mirth at the situation and Darcy's utter frustration. Still, she held him to her firmly.

"Do not be cross, my love. We shall have ample opportunity in the near future to…continue this conversation."

Caroline Bingley enjoyed her tea in the sitting room of the Hurst townhouse just a stone's throw from Hyde Park where she had resided the week following her brother and Darcy's wedding. Her older sister, Louisa, as well as Lady Eleanor and Lady Norwood, had agreed to all congregate that afternoon to share of what they knew in regards to the newlywed Darcys, who were honeymooning just up the street.

"They have not left Darcy House," said Lady Eleanor in astonishment. "Not once! Not even for a carriage ride or just a bit of air."

"I find it very odd, indeed," said Lady Norwood. "One might get the impression that Darcy was ashamed of the woman."

Lady Eleanor nodded. "Well, I can't say I blame him. Why ever did he marry her?"

"Surely she entrapped him," answered Lady Norwood. "Country women are notorious for such things. Sir Lawrence never ventures North of London for just that reason."

At that bit of nonsense, Caroline felt compelled to interject. "Lady Norwood, your husband is not only a married man, but well into his fifties. Surely he is not in danger of being preyed upon."

"Oh, do not be so naïve, Caroline," replied Lady Norwood. "They are taught from girlhood how to identify, allure and ensnare men of Society into taking them as lovers. Many are very pretty, I daresay, as well as extremely artful. And they are quite adept at convincing susceptible men like my Lawrence to give them carte blanche. It is all too common!"

"I see," said Caroline with full knowledge that Sir Lawrence was scarcely accepted by the _ton_, having earned his fortune in trade much like Sir William Lucas and her own father, Alfred Bingley. Lady Norwood, despite a meager title that enabled her delusions of grandeur, was well in the same boat as Caroline in terms of societal status, and both women had decided long ago to aid one another in improving their respective stations. As Louisa was already married to the well-connected but otherwise useless Mr. Hurst, she had no horse in the race, but did enjoy a spot of gossip with her tea—as did Lady Eleanor, who was clever enough to have married a man of magnitude whose estate joined with her already inherited rank, title, and wealth. It was _she_ Caroline envied and admired most of all, for it was she who had everything a woman of worth should desire in life—beauty (or _style_, at least), wealth, status, connections and, above all, good breeding. Caroline Bingley would always be the daughter of a tradesman, but that shall not be her enduring legacy.

"The question is," pondered Lady Eleanor, "Why is he hiding her? I understand he has not yet even introduced her to his uncle, the _Earl of Matlock_!" Lady Eleanor placed such emphasis on his lordship's title one would think she referenced the king himself.

"Oh, indeed!" Louisa finally contributed. "Caroline and I saw it firsthand—that Lord and Lady Matlock had abstained from the wedding."

"Were they even invited, do you think?" Lady Norwood asked.

"Darcy would not dare snub his uncle in such a way," said Caroline. "Imprudent he may be, but otherwise dutiful. No, I am convinced his lordship was invited, but abstained. Either he outright disapproves of Darcy's little wood-nymph or felt slighted by the absence of a proper introduction. Remember, Darcy is master of his own household. In all propriety, he may welcome his uncle's guidance, but in practice, he answers to no one."

"Oh, Caroline—what a catch he would have been for you, my dear!" Lady Norwood cried.

"And what a catch Miss Darcy would have been for Charles," said Louisa. "Caroline labored exceedingly to make it so, I assure you, but unfortunately she was no match for the charms of the _enthralling_ Bennet sisters."

Louisa laughed at her own quip, and Caroline was becoming annoyed with her sister's biting remarks. _Have your fun_, she thought. _Being married to even a baronet would be an improvement over the addle-pated lump to which you are shackled. _

"He is not ashamed of his wife—at least, not yet," Caroline finally said, changing the subject. "I was a witness to it all. Eliza made sport of him from the start and showed him no reverence or proper respect. She is all conceit and impertinence, and—fool that he is—her cheek bewitched the poor devil. That and her _fine_ _eyes_."

"Amorous flame," chuckled Lady Norwood.

"I confess it is true," concurred Louisa. "He seemed to begin admiring her near as soon as he scorned her!"

"I keep telling you, Caroline," said Lady Eleanor, "Men of substance are _not_ susceptible to flattery. They require more of a challenge. And speaking of challenge, have I told you about the arrival of Lord Thornhaugh?"

The ladies put down their tea glasses and—to her great satisfaction—stared at Lady Eleanor in profound curiosity. Caroline rang the bell, and a servant appeared.

"Margaret, a tray of biscuits, please."

The girl curtseyed and disappeared from the room where upon Caroline urged Lady Eleanor to continue. _This visit should turn out to be most worthwhile, after all._

Mr. and Mrs. Darcy continued their "conversations" at length after filling their stomachs with food and wine, sharing a bath and a bed, dressing and then undressing one another. In fact, they almost never left their chambers or even one another's arms in those first few days, and the time they spent in London passed all too quickly. After almost a week, Darcy became eager to move along to Pemberley, and Elizabeth readily complied to set out directly, though she could not help but notice her husband's lack of interest in morning walks along the promenade of Hyde Park. Indeed, the man had no interest in even setting foot out of doors, mostly citing the weather, and Elizabeth was ultimately obliged to give up the entreaty, especially when he would begin kissing her neck the way she liked. On the morning they were to depart for Derbyshire, after once again refusing to indulge her on what he considered to be a "particularly chilly morning," Darcy kissed Elizabeth's pouting lips and assured her that Pemberley's grounds were ideal for the long walks she enjoyed so well.

"It shall be as cold in Derbyshire as it is in London."

"London is much colder, I assure you," he said solemnly, and she let the subject drop.

Darcy had hoped to reach Pemberley in only two days after starting off at sunrise, stopping only briefly at an Inn to rest, change horses and have a proper meal; but eventually even he had to acknowledge the impossibility of such an endeavor, finally (and begrudgingly) agreeing to his head coachman's more reasonable proposal that they set aside four days of travel given the road conditions. Elizabeth assured Darcy that she was in no great hurry, that the estate would still be there should they arrive in two days or ten. She was right, of course, and Darcy was beginning to marvel at his own impatience. Why exhaust the men and the horses in order to curtail the trip by half? As they arrived on the premises, Mrs. Reynolds was waiting for them, lining up the staff accordingly as was customary upon the master's return after an extended absence. Someone would keep watch throughout the day, then alert both the housekeeper and butler soon as the carriage was spotted. Very rarely had Mrs. Reynolds been unprepared for Darcy's arrival, as he nearly always notified her by private messenger well in advance. One exception had been when he had appeared the day guests on holiday had been on the premises to admire the splendor of the place, a practice not uncommon during the summer months. Darcy and his own companions were expected the following day, so Mrs. Reynolds had allowed for an arranged tour of the grounds—a Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, along with their niece. Business matters had required Darcy to ride ahead of his party in order to meet with his steward, Mr. Thatcher, the very man who replaced the elder Mr. Wickham upon his death. Darcy had been absent from Pemberley a month entire, and there were affairs that needed his attention. Quite numb he was in those days to the fact that Elizabeth Bennet would never be his, and he was grateful to have reached a level of acceptance that allowed him to think of her only when idle (nights were the worst). He therefore decided to take Georgiana's suggestion of travelling abroad for a month—to Italy, to France, to Scotland—all the while busying himself profusely with both work and recreation. By July, he had grown tired of travelling and longed for the sanctity of home without the despondency of perpetual solitude. Even Caroline Bingley's company was an improvement over that. Hence, he retrieved Georgiana from the Bingleys care and invited them along with the Hursts to Pemberley a full month before the start of the shooting season.

He remembered being in a better mood than usual that day he rode up on the parklands to meet with Thatcher, a feeling to which Darcy attributed being where he was ever most comfortable. The sun was shining, the air was crisp, and a familiar weight was not pressing upon his heart. He had dismounted and sent his horse away with the stable hand, and was not far from the stable block himself when he spotted _her_ not more than twenty yards away, exiting the house.

The moment he laid eyes upon her, Darcy was certain that he had gone mad. It simply could not be! Moments later, when another couple joined her, Darcy breathed a sigh of relief in realizing they were indeed the guests Mrs. Reynolds had mentioned in her note. Darcy feared to hope that Elizabeth's opinion of him had improved since last he saw her, but had not for a moment considered avoiding her altogether, which he could have easily done had he the inclination. The estate was certainly vast enough for a hasty retreat. No, after the initial shock had subsided, his feet carried him to her instantly. Perhaps he _had_ gone a little mad, because in that instant he was truly not in his right mind and had no idea what he was to say until he reached her party. Thankfully, he managed to be thoroughly, yet reticently amiable toward her and her relations, despite the emotions that whirled violently within him. As the afternoon progressed, and Darcy had decidedly convinced himself that the favorable change in her demeanor was not wishful thinking, he once again could not help himself and asked Elizabeth if he might introduce her to Georgiana. What on Earth was he thinking? Not three months earlier, she had figuratively spat in his face, and rightly so! She despised him! It was the Netherfield ball all over again! Was he to drive himself to Bedlam or was he merely the proverbial glutton for punishment? This time, however, he was not to be thwarted by another rejection, for she had consented, and this time not reluctantly, but with courtesy and kindness—a warmth, even. It was a start! By God, it was a start! Even the slightest bits of encouragement from her were to him like sips of water after crossing the Sahara, and with every drink he felt his soul reviving. Then the moment came when she and the Gardiners had to depart, and the devilish weight upon his heart returned, the fear of never seeing her again despite her avowal to the contrary gripping his insides. He remembered as he helped her into the carriage wanting to take her into his arms and beg her to not leave—not _ever_! As absurd as the very notion may have been, it took every muscle in his body to stand still and allow the carriage to pull away; and he would never forget the exhilaration of her looking back at him just before they were out of sight. Perhaps that was why, now that they were married, he was so eager to reach Pemberley as quickly as possible—to replace the memory of her leaving his home with a new one of her _staying_ to reside for as long as they lived.

The carriage pulled up to the front of the house where the upper servants were lined up according to gender and rank with Mrs. Reynolds and Mr. Bridges at the forefront. Though Bridges was a most competent butler, having risen up the ranks throughout his lifetime to attain his current title about ten years ago, everyone acknowledged Mrs. Reynolds as the head of the household when Darcy was away and second in command amidst his presence, having practically raised him since the age of four. She knew him better than anyone, was superior in anticipating his needs, could interpret every mood and gesture, and was most adept at making things understood to the other servants – when to attend him, when to let him be, and how to deduce his temperament from one day to the next. Darcy knew that his marriage was bittersweet for this woman stricken in years, for the brunt of this burden now belonged to Mrs. Darcy, and it was a full-time job, indeed—though not one in which Mrs. Reynolds, she herself admitted, had looked forward to relinquishing. A footman opened the carriage door and Darcy exited, leading his wife out by the hand. Mrs. Reynolds smiled warmly at the new mistress and made a deep curtsey.

"Welcome home, Mrs. Darcy."

Elizabeth blushed, clearly honored by the gesture, and seemed as surprised as Darcy to witness the servants follow suit, the females in line curtseying as the men concurrently bowed. Darcy looked at Mrs. Reynolds with great affection and by her countenance knew that this moment was her wedding gift to him.

Georgiana, having arrived in Matlock just that afternoon, sat across from Col. Fitzwilliam at the dinner table with the earl and countess at the lower and upper ends respectively. Lord Matlock, Georgiana had always observed, resembled her brother in physical stature and brooding countenance—only their uncle was much older, of course, and possessed striking blue eyes as opposed to William's eyes of chocolate brown. And as did William with his sense of duty, his lordship took his own quite seriously. He had neither the time nor inclination for "nonsense," a word he used commonly, which was perhaps why his younger son tended more toward the lighthearted in terms of temperament and loved a good laugh— even sometimes at his father's expense, which vexed his lordship to no end. Lady Matlock, sitting with perfect deportment at the head of the table, was also an intimidating presence for Georgiana, for though she was nowhere near as severe and opinionated as Lady Catherine, she held an air of great style and elegance in addition to being one, like Elizabeth, to speak as she found. Georgiana was never certain of where she fell in her ladyship's esteem, for while she may give the occasional smile or nod, the countess only voiced her approval in but exceedingly rare moments.

As the first course was being served, Georgiana could not help but notice her cousin's frequent glances at her, a look of amusement on his face. She knew what he was about, but only looked away in annoyance. Why did she have to express her anger over her aunt and uncle having missed the wedding so vehemently—and to _Richard_ of all people? Georgiana had decided days ago that her behavior in the carriage was unfair and silly. Certainly Elizabeth would never lose her temper in such a juvenile fashion. She handled everything with elegance and grace. And kindness. Well, maybe she used a few harsh words with William after initially refusing his hand, but Georgiana was still convinced that the quarrel that had separated them was based on a terrible misunderstanding, one that thank heavens they resolved. And then, she supposed, there was that altercation with Lady Catherine, but—

"Georgiana, dear, have you no appetite, this evening?" Lady Matlock asked with concern.

Georgiana looked down at her soup, realizing she had not even lifted her spoon.

"You must excuse your niece this evening, Mama," said Richard. "She is a bit tired from the journey."

_Blasted Richard_, thought Georgiana. _I do not need you to speak for me_.

"Well, the road from London to Matlock _is_ a long one," said Lord Matlock. "I should hope you saw to her comfort, Richard."

"Of course, Father. Though I suspect it is more from distraction than the absence of hunger, I can account for neither—but no matter. I am sure my dear cousin will disclose _all_ that is on her mind as she sees fit."

Glaring at the colonel, Georgiana asserted that she was _not_ tired _or_ distracted, took the spoon and began to tuck in. Several minutes passed in silence before Lady Matlock finally broached the subject that hung in the air like one of those French hot-air balloons.

"So let us have it, the two of you."

"Why, whatever do you mean, Mother?" Richard asked innocently.

"Oh, give over, Richard. You know perfectly well I wish to discuss this country girl your cousin has seen fit to marry without even introducing her to what remains of his family."

Georgiana gripped the fabric of her skirts under the table, detesting Elizabeth being described with such condescension. She remembered how with so much refinement Elizabeth had handled Caroline Bingley's overt impoliteness that night at Pemberley when visiting with her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner. She remembered how her brother looked at Elizabeth the whole of that evening and how he lit up whenever she was near him or even in the room. Her thoughts were interrupted by a question asked by Lord Matlock in exasperation.

"Must we talk about this now, Alexandra?"

"I see no reason why not," her ladyship answered. "What else have we to talk about but the weather?"

"You are incorrect, Madam," said Richard. "The lady _has_ been introduced to some of Darcy's close relations. She has had the honor, for example, of meeting the noble Lady Catherine—"

"Do not try your mother's patience, Richard," warned his lordship, though it was clear the patience he spoke of was his own. "You know right well the five-page letter I received from my sister condemning this relationship soon as the engagement was confirmed."

"And you know right well how hysterical Aunt Catherine can be, not to mention abominably rude and snobbish. Reminds me a little of your eldest, to be quite honest."

"Richard!" Her ladyship exclaimed.

"Very well, Mother, I shall get right to the point. You missed a most lovely and moving ceremony, and my cousin is—if it can be believed—the happiest of men this very moment. Elizabeth Bennet—or _Darcy_, I should say—is a perfectly lovely, intelligent woman with a liveliness of mind well-suited to Darce."

"Then why not write us asking for our blessing—or better yet, pay us a call to discuss it in person?" Lord Matlock asked before taking a drink from his wineglass.

Fitzwilliam looked over at Georgiana, inviting her to voice her opinion as she had declared she would, but as her jaw felt frozen shut at the moment, the colonel was forced to finally answer.

"I cannot speak for the man. I suppose you must take that up with Darcy."

"Because there was nothing to be discussed," murmured Georgiana.

"I beg your pardon?" Lord Matlock looked at his niece commandingly, which frightened her. She glanced at her cousin for support, and he nodded for her to continue. She did so reluctantly, clasping her hands together to keep them from trembling.

"He genuinely desired your attendance, Uncle, but he simply could not bring himself to ask your blessing when he was quite certain he would not have it due to her…situation. He also unquestionably would have married her with or without your blessing, and therefore considered the very idea a pretense."

"But Georgiana, my dear," said Lady Matlock, shaking her head. "That does not explain why he did not at least allow us to _meet_ her during the engagement. I do not understand. What have we done to deserve such a slight, such a lack of respect and decorum?"

"That I do not know, Aunt," said Georgiana with a little more confidence. "I only know that my brother is the very best of men and does nothing without good reason. I also know…that is, I fervently believe that had you answered his letter with an invitation to bring Elizabeth to Matlock for dinner…or just for tea, perhaps…"

"Ah, I see," said the earl, quite indignantly. "So apparently _we_ are in the wrong. Did you hear, my dear? It appears it is we who have slighted _him_." He scoffed. "Bloody nonsense!"

"Is it not a matter of precedence that one be called upon by an earl or countess before paying a call, even if the gentleman is the nephew of said lord and lady?" Georgiana said softly, wishing her nerves would calm. She could feel her aunt's eyes on her and continued to stare into her soup. After many moments, she heard what sounded like a sigh of resignation from her ladyship.

"I'm afraid we may have miscalculated our nephew, James," said Lady Matlock to her husband. "This young lady has evidently affected him deeply, and I believe she may indeed be a woman worth knowing."

"Or the lad may have been duped into riveting himself to a right bit of muslin like so many nobs before him…"

Georgiana nearly jumped out of her seat at such an affront to Elizabeth's character, but allowed Lord Matlock to continue upon the slight raising of Richard's hand as a warning for her to be still.

"…Although I admit that is highly unlikely, given Darcy's good sense and breeding." To Fitzwilliam, he asked, "Surely he is well acquainted with her family?"

Fitzwilliam nearly spit out his swig of wine in an effort to contain his laughter before answering, "Yes, I daresay he is."

"Ah-ha!" His lordship exclaimed. "You see, Alexandra! I knew something had to be off. You see how Richard just reacted upon the mentioning of her family—these, these _Bennets_, correct?"

Fitzwilliam nodded.

"And Catherine went into full detail about the girl's youngest sister, something about an elopement with that Wickham lad George Darcy was so fond of—we all know how _he_ turned out—and a patched-up marriage to avoid scandal? I do not like it, Alexandra. I feel the boy may have lost all reason."

"Nevertheless," said her ladyship, "Georgiana makes a viable point. We should have extended an invitation to Darcy and his betrothed immediately rather than pointlessly mull over the sense of it all. Therefore, I shall extend the olive branch and invite Mr. and Mrs. Darcy to dinner directly. If our nephew has lost all reason, I should very much like to meet the source of it."

Georgiana exhaled in relief over her aunt's decision and once again glanced across the table at Richard, who was now smiling at her not with amusement but with approval. In that moment, Georgiana could not help feeling proud of herself, terrifying as crossing Lord and Lady Matlock may have been. How Elizabeth was able to do the same amidst the ravings of Lady Catherine and to a much greater degree, Georgiana could hardly begin to contemplate.


	7. Part 7

It took Elizabeth two days to meet the entire staff of Pemberley who kept the home's three-hundred rooms and managed the estate's six-thousand acres, starting with the upper and lower servants right down to the scullery maids, all of whom Mrs. Reynolds personally introduced. Some of the girls, Elizabeth noticed, were exceptionally young (she counted five who were but twelve-years-old!), but Mrs. Reynolds assured her that this was not only quite common in the more regal homes throughout the country, but that the employment of these pre-adolescent girls, many of whom were orphaned, kept them properly fed, clothed, and out of the workhouses. Both Mrs. Reynolds and Mr. Bridges, according to Darcy, always saw to it that none of the younger girls were mistreated and were often given little cakes from the kitchen provided they were well-behaved and worked hard. Of course, Mrs. Reynolds noted, ill-treatment of any kind to any servant of Pemberley was also strictly forbidden.

On the second day, Darcy himself introduced Elizabeth to all who worked outside the home, from the gardeners to the groundskeepers, as he personally managed most of them along with Mr. Thatcher, and, like Elizabeth, actually enjoyed spending time out of doors whenever possible, preferring the rural countryside over the bustle of London. Elizabeth smiled at this bit of information, reminding her as it did of her own father, who was more similar to her husband than she ever would have thought possible. She met Mr. Thatcher himself, who was a bit stuffy but highly educated, and could answer any question she had in regards to the financial accounts. Elizabeth recalled being briefed on money matters during the engagement when Darcy had delivered the marriage settlement for Mr. Bennet's perusal. During the discussion of the family's comfort and security upon Darcy's death, Elizabeth excused herself under the guise of being "bored silly" when she simply could not bear the thought of her beloved's mortality—not then, and not now. Upon meeting the steward, once the subject was raised yet again, Elizabeth affirmed that she would gladly forfeit her pin money for ten years added to Mr. Darcy's life after the birth of their first grandchild, and could he, Mr. Thatcher, please have it notarized? Thatcher looked at her curiously for a moment before declaring that it would be an impossibility, to which Darcy had to conceal his laughter behind his sleeve.

The final part of the tour that day—strategically planned by Darcy, no doubt—was the stable block. Elizabeth was more than happy to be shown all of the remarkable horses, proud as he was of them, though riding was not one of her strong suits. In fact, Elizabeth never properly learned to ride, for Nellie was the only horse who resided on the grounds of Longbourn, and she was a massive cold-blood bred for work over leisurely strolls. Growing up, Elizabeth had always preferred admiring the creatures from afar rather than aloft, though she had a feeling her husband as a most skillful equestrian would have her learn to ride quickly as possible just as he had Georgiana. Elizabeth met the stable hands, as well as the man who, along with Darcy's father, taught the young master how to ride, Mr. Armstead, horse trainer and manager of the entire block. The white-whiskered man in his sixties took off his hat and bowed.

"Lovely to meet you, Mrs. Darcy. I hope these ol' bone-setters don't scare ye' none."

Elizabeth laughed at the man's affectionate teasing of the prime bits of blood both relaxing in the stables and grazing near the block.

"I assure you I am not afraid of horses, Mr. Armstead—unless I am astride one."

"Miss Georgiana once felt the same way as you, M'um, when she was wee one. Now she is a most able horsewoman, eh, sir?"

"Unquestionably."

"It is settled, then," said Elizabeth, who then looked archly at her husband. "I believe myself as capable as she, after all. And unlike other worthwhile endeavors, I _shall_ take the trouble of practicing."

Darcy grinned at her in fond remembrance as Mr. Armstead went on in complete ignorance of Elizabeth's meaning.

"You won't be seein' superior horses anywhere else, and I trained them all myself!" He nodded toward the stable hands. "With the help of some of the lads there, of course. Shall I bring her out, Mr. Darcy?"

"If you please, sir."

Mr. Armstead hurried into one of the wings, leaving Mr. and Mrs. Darcy alone. Elizabeth faced her husband and reached up to straighten his already perfect cravat."

"Do you intend to teach me to ride this very moment, Mr. Darcy?"

"Indeed not, Madam. This is but an introduction." He kissed her hand. "I believe you shall get on quite well. I picked her out myself."

Elizabeth turned upon the sound of hooves approaching and her eyes widened upon the sight of a magnificent mare—dapple gray from mane to muzzle with bits of black covering her rear. Elizabeth stared in speechless awe of the creature being led by Mr. Armstead.

"I was tempted to choose one who reminded me of you," said Darcy, taking the horse's reins, "but I realized that would not do at all, for you would be best suited to a horse both kind _and_ gentle…"

"I beg your pardon!" Elizabeth cried in mock indignation.

"So I chose one who reminded me of Jane."

Elizabeth hesitated a moment before slowly reaching her hand out to the animal, who invited her attention without a start. Elizabeth gently rubbed the horse's muzzle, and the docile beast nudged closer to her new owner. Elizabeth smiled, marveling at how at ease she felt with a creature whose proximity typically unnerved her. Mr. Armstead stood by, wondering if he should excuse himself as he sensed the couple, enveloped in one another as they appeared to be, would prefer to be left alone. He dutifully remained still as Darcy joined Elizabeth in stroking the horse.

"She is a good-natured girl, is she not?" Darcy said.

"I daresay she is," said Elizabeth as she moved her hand from the horse's muzzle to her neck, admiring the silky coat. The mare snorted, and Elizabeth laughed, during which she glanced over at her husband, who was staring at her in his customary fashion.

"What shall you name her?" He asked.

"I do not…I have never named a horse before. If she is like Jane, then I shall simply call her Jane for the time being."

Darcy looked horrified by the very idea. "You cannot be serious, Elizabeth!"

Mr. Armstead quickly came to her defense. "It is an unorthodox handle for an Arabian, to be sure, Mr. Darcy, but a temporary one—if I may say so, sir. This Jane person is special to you, I take it, Mrs. Darcy?"

"She is, indeed. Jane is my eldest and dearest sister," said Elizabeth with a hint of melancholy. Darcy and Mr. Armstead exchanged sympathetic glances.

"All right, my dear," said Darcy. "You may call her whatever you wish. She is yours, after all."

Elizabeth threw herself into her husband's arms.

"Oh thank you, my love! Thank you!"

Darcy hesitated to embrace his wife, a bit uncomfortable at having such a moment in front of Armstead. Luckily, the insinuation was not lost upon the man, and with a slight bow he took his leave. Darcy then fully enclosed his arms around her, sensing by the strength of her hold on him that she was more than just thankful for her gift.

"I had not realized you missed your sister so much."

"It is silly," she said into the breast of his overcoat.

"It is not."

"It is just…it is knowing I will see her but a few times a year now that we are settled so far apart. I should dearly love to watch our children to grow up together." She looked up at him. "But I refuse to be downhearted. I look forward to making new friends—and speaking of which, when shall I meet the tenants?"

"Whenever you'd like. Would tomorrow suit you?"

"Indeed, sir!"

"Very well." Darcy suddenly mounted the horse to be known as "Jane." He reached out his arm to Elizabeth, who now had her answer as to why the animal was already bridled, saddled and ready to ride; yet she hesitated to take his hand.

"I thought this was only an introduction."

"You've yet to see the best parts of the grounds, Mrs. Darcy, and this is the optimal way to get there, I am afraid. But I will be at the helm, so there is nothing to fear."

Elizabeth took her husband's hand to show him she was at least proficient in _mounting_ a horse if not well-versed in steering one. She settled herself behind him side-saddle and gripped his overcoat as he proceeded to slip on his gloves.

"Tighter if you please, Madam—not that it is necessary. The ride shall be an easy one." With a smile in his voice, he added, "I speak only of my own gratification."

She gladly obliged her husband by wrapping her arms fully around his waist as he cued the horse into a slow trot. Nervous as she was, the gait was manageable and only made Elizabeth—despite her anxiety—all the more determined to learn to ride on her own. Once again, her husband's confidence in her abilities must trump her own irrational fears.

Caroline Bingley was never a great lover of card-parties, preferring the occasional game of Whist after dinner, but when she received the invitation from Lady Eleanor to attend such a gathering at her own Romford Manor, the end result—namely making the acquaintance of a most eligible gentleman—was well worth the overall tedium of the activity. Her ladyship assured Caroline that Lord Thornhaugh would be attending the party, for he was quite the card enthusiast, whether it be Whist, Vingt-et-un, Loo, or Piquet. He was also, Lady Eleanor described, a most handsome, charming and amiable gentleman, not to mention a marquess who stood to inherit a massive estate upon the passing of his father, the Duke of Bedford, who was a noted politician and former Member of Parliament. As Caroline listened attentively, her eyes sparkled at the very thought of being married to the eldest son of a duke.

_Why not?_ Caroline thought. If an upstart like Eliza Bennet can secure one of the wealthiest men in the country through the power of her charms alone, surely Caroline had a fighting chance if she—in a manner of speaking—played her cards right. She recognized where she went wrong with Darcy and would have to change her game plan for his lordship. As Lady Eleanor had stressed, she must _not_ flatter him or show him any overt attention at all. Indeed, she must challenge his opinions and prove herself a wit, as well as an intellectual, well-versed in poetry and literature...

_Blast! Reading is such a bore! There must be a better way!_

After much deliberation, she ultimately decided that she would not do as Eliza and feign an interest in reading and ridicule as a way to entice the gentleman. Caroline was rich and accomplished enough that such affectations should not be necessary, but she _would_ take a lesson from Mrs. Darcy and banter with Thornhaugh at every possible turn. And should the subsequent occasion arise where his lordship asked for a dance, she must refuse, of course. Caroline was still unsure as to how _rejecting_ a worthy suitor as a method of seduction was anything other than counter-intuitive, but Eliza certainly proved it as a rule, for Caroline had understood her to refuse a set with Darcy at least twice—once before her very eyes! But then the conniving woman accepted him at the Netherfield ball last year, soon after which Darcy made haste to London and conspired with Caroline to keep Charles away from Eliza's sister.

_So did her acceptance of his attentions only serve to turn him off to her? It must be so. _

Based on this supposition, Caroline concluded that Eliza must have rejected Darcy on at least one more occasion to end up in her current position as mistress of Pemberley. _Clever minx!_

In a gesture of great benevolence, Lady Eleanor sat Caroline and Thornhaugh at the same table, and Caroline silently thanked the heavens at what a valuable friend she had in her ladyship. As Lady Eleanor introduced them, the first thing Caroline noticed was how strikingly handsome Thornhaugh was, and how fashionable, without being a dandy. His manners were superb, and though Caroline was not the only single lady at the table, Thornhaugh kept his attentions mostly on her—at least that was how she interpreted it—to which she made sure to appear more interested in the cards in her hand than the gentleman sitting across from her. Caroline also could not help but notice what an adept card-player his lordship was and how seriously he took the game, especially Vingt-et-un, which appeared to be his favorite. As the evening progressed, it was suggested that the stakes be raised and that everyone play not only for chips, but for actual tender. Caroline was quite accustomed to this sudden shift and made sure to bring plenty of coin in case the occasion should arise as would any person of good breeding. Lady Eleanor, ever the well-prepared hostess, even brought in a cashier for any guest who may need to make change for the duration of the evening. Once again, the game was Vingt-et-un, a game Caroline only understood in that one must get as close to twenty-one as possible without going over. Thornhaugh volunteered generously to be the dealer at their table, an ever so monotonous occupation.

"But your lordship, will that not diminish your own enjoyment of the game?" Caroline asked in as teasing a manner as possible.

Thornhaugh glanced at her most wickedly as he expertly shuffled the cards. "The enjoyment, Miss Bingley, is where I may observe and admire the aesthetics of the room while coaching others in the art of not losing their pocketbooks."

"You have always been most charitable in that way, your lordship," cried Lady Eleanor from the next table. "Lord Thornhaugh has in the past saved me quite the sovereign, I daresay."

"And what is in it for you to be so philanthropic, your lordship?" Caroline asked as he lay a card in front of each at the table face-down, followed by a second card face-up.

"Do not let her ladyship mislead you," he answered. "It has nothing to do with a sense of altruism, but rather a fervid interest in the study of one's future foes—how they play, their eye contact, their movements, their gestures. Call it a hobby of mine."

"And that hobby being the study of fellow gamers or the gaming hells themselves?"

"Admittedly, I frequent the clubs and have seen many of my peers come to ruin. Perhaps had they studied a bit more…?"

Thornhaugh smiled playfully in her direction and continued to deal. By the end of the evening, Caroline had well decided that in Lord Thornhaugh she could not find a better match and would do everything in her power to not let this one slip through her fingers.

"Elizabeth! I have a letter for you from Lady Matlock that she requested I deliver personally!"

An excited Georgiana exited the carriage, followed by Mrs. Annesley, to greet Darcy and Elizabeth, barely giving the footman enough time to help her out. She embraced Elizabeth affectionately, hardly noticing her brother's presence.

"I told her ladyship how wonderful you were and how she and Uncle—oh, dear brother!" Georgiana paused only long enough to kiss Darcy's cheek, then turned instantly back to Elizabeth. "And how she and Uncle Matlock were wrong to forego the wedding!"

Despite being virtually ignored, Darcy could not help interceding. "You _told_ her that? Aloud?"

"Well, I may not have used those exact words, but I certainly held firm that the decision was yours and that their approval, although desired, was not compulsory! You can ask Cousin Richard! He was there!"

Mr. and Mrs. Darcy exchanged looks of astonishment before Elizabeth asked, "And you are certain this is not a letter denouncing me for influencing her beloved niece most abhorrently?"

"Indeed not! You can see for yourself! She wishes for you and William to visit Matlock as soon as possible! It is a dinner invitation!"

As the two cheerful ladies walked and talked with arms interlocked into the house, Darcy slowed his pace behind them, his countenance full of apprehension. Of course he knew this meeting was inevitable, but he had hoped to delay it a bit longer, perhaps even pay his aunt and uncle a solitary visit before taking Elizabeth in order to gauge what their manners might be toward her, a task he could have accomplished during their engagement but for his blasted pride.

_And a bit of cowardice, perhaps?_

Darcy grit his teeth at the notion that fear may have played a role in keeping Elizabeth away from the earl and countess. Naturally, he wanted them to love her as he did, but instinctively knew that their first impression would be much the same as his had been—that of dismissal, if not disdain, based solely on her lineage, or lack thereof. Sure as that, he also knew their admiration of her would not grow as quickly as his own. Were he perfectly honest, Darcy would have to admit that he harbored a gripping fear of what his Aunt Catherine had so decidedly proclaimed—that Elizabeth may _never_ be accepted by his family or Society. It was a fear felt not for himself, but for her, and Darcy hated how little say he had in the matter. The felines of the First Circles—with the power to destroy by way of exclusion anyone deemed unworthy—were sadly far more influential in that regard. What was worse, in spite of himself, he respected his uncle's opinion as he would his own father's, for both men had been solid influences throughout Darcy's life, had indeed taught him _everything_ about being a proper and most dutiful gentleman…and about being a proud, disagreeable one. As a younger man, he'd had many a conversation with his lordship about the perils of venturing from one's own circle and had known the moment he decided to ask for Elizabeth's hand that he would be—in the eyes of his family—an abject disappointment, a veritable waste of superior breeding. The very thought sickened him, not only his family's unfounded disapproval, but that Darcy himself had for many years held the same convictions. Thank heavens Elizabeth helped him to recognize the error of his ways, but Aunt and Uncle Matlock would not be so easily turned. Though her ladyship's letter appeared to be a sign of goodwill, he would have to decipher it himself in order to be certain.

Darcy was still chewing over the matter a half-hour later in his study while the ladies dressed and prepared for dinner, and had not realized how much time had passed until Bridges appeared in the doorway.

"Mr. Darcy? Dinner is ready to be served, sir."

"Thank you, Bridges."

Darcy made his way into the dining room where Elizabeth and Georgiana stood at their places waiting for him. Darcy took his place, and they all sat down in unison.

"William, guess who has most graciously volunteered to teach me to ride?"

"Who?" William started at Elizabeth's question, absorbed as he still was in his own thoughts.

"_Me_, silly!" Georgiana said, giggling. "Oh, Lizzy, we shall have so much fun!"

"Certainly not!" William said abruptly. Both Elizabeth and Georgiana were alarmed by the firmness in his tone, and many seconds passed before Georgiana felt compelled to address such an adamant refusal.

"I do not understand. Why ever not?"

He glared at her. "You are skilled on a horse, Georgie, but you have never actually taught someone the fundamentals of horseback riding."

"I know the essentials backwards and forwards, I daresay," said Georgiana with a huff. "I have been riding sidesaddle since the age of three and have consistently kept up with both you and Richard!"

"Only because we have consistently slowed our own pace." Darcy felt himself growing increasingly annoyed at such contention at his own dinner table. It was not something to which he was accustomed and certainly not from his own sister.

"William," said Elizabeth gently. "This would mean a great deal to Georgiana, and I have the utmost confidence in her. You already have so much responsibility, whereas Georgiana may easily find the time for such an undertaking. You yourself taught her everything she knows, did you not? Have you no faith in your own pupil?"

Before Darcy could answer, Georgiana supplied, "Indeed not, Lizzy. He still sees me as a child as Richard does."

"That is insupportable," said Darcy as he tried to remember the last time Georgiana had argued with him about—well, _anything_. He looked at her gravely. "Do you doubt my decision? Do you think _me_ unjust?"

Georgiana lowered her head, saying nothing. Indeed, it _was_ the first time she had disputed him in such a manner, and it seemed Georgiana was also realizing it. Elizabeth also remained silent, unsure as to what had just transpired, but ultimately deciding it was best to leave the subject. For now.

Later that evening, when all had retired, Elizabeth lay in bed waiting for her husband, still contemplating the fierce refusal of Georgiana's offer without any consideration for either of their feelings on the matter. Elizabeth dared not say so at the time, considering the delicacy of a relationship such as theirs, but she could not help but think the decision _was_ unjust and could not help wondering the reason for it. She was so proud of her sister-in-law—and had assumed William was, as well—for apparently having found her voice in the presence of her Aunt and Uncle Matlock and had believed the riding lessons a marvelous step toward further progress, only to have the idea quashed by the very man who had always encouraged every effort to lift the girl's self-assurance.

Elizabeth heard the door to her room open, followed by William's footsteps and the gentle falling of his robe upon the floor. She remained motionless as he slipped under the covers and immediately took her into his arms. He began kissing just below her ear and slowly worked his way down her neck, and though Elizabeth discerned the moment inappropriate to raise the subject once again, she simply could not help herself.

"William," she said, gently raising his head to meet her curious gaze. "Forgive me, my love, but I must know why you spoke in such a manner to Georgiana at dinner."

He seemed disappointed by the interruption, but obliged her query. "I am not accustomed to her questioning my judgment, but perhaps I spoke too harshly. I shall apologize to her tomorrow."

As if the matter were now closed, William tried to resume his lovemaking; but Elizabeth, now even more frustrated, sat up and looked at him with great effort in preserving her patience.

"Clearly I misspoke. I do not mean _how_ you spoke to her, my dear. I mean that you _denied_ her the task altogether. Do you truly find her so unqualified?"

"Of course she is unqualified! She is…she is too young, not to mention a woman—"

"Fitzwilliam Darcy!" Now fully incensed, Elizabeth propelled herself out of bed in a fit of temper and proceeded to pace about the room.

"You cannot mean that! You cannot think her so incapable simply because of her sex, William. I will not have it!"

"You misunderstand me. It is a matter of propriety—"

"You and your damn propriety!" Elizabeth calmed herself slightly, realizing she had never used such a word towards him in anger. Suddenly, a thought occurred to her, and she slowly approached him, arms crossed.

"This is neither about propriety nor her age. You, Mr. Darcy, are afraid."

Darcy said nothing, only shook his head.

"Upon my word, you are! You are afraid I shall take a fall under her tutelage, despite her _unquestionable_ skills as a rider. There is no rationality at all! You simply will not place me under your little sister's protection—admit it!"

When he cut his eyes away and sat utterly still as though willing himself to vanish completely, Elizabeth knew she had her answer, which ignited her sense of compassion, for it was now clear he only feared for her safety in the absence his direct supervision. With an aching feeling of sympathy toward her husband, she climbed back onto the bed and tenderly took his hand.

"William…"

Though she beckoned him to look at her, he continued to stare in stubborn silence at a place on the wall.

"Dearest, I only seek foundational knowledge. I shall not be leaping over streams and fences. I can scarcely imagine coaxing dear 'Jane' above a jog. Oh, sweetheart…"

Elizabeth put her hand on his cheek, and he finally met her eyes.

"Please trust that we shall both be extremely careful. I give you my word."

"You can be quite as obstinate as a mare, you know," murmured Darcy. Elizabeth laughed.

"_That_ I do agree with, sir! But I aspire not to be a top-sawyer, I assure you. It is simply not in my nature." With a tender smile, she added, "For in my heart, I shall always be a very great walker."

Darcy took her hand and pressed his lips to her palm. "Very well, Madam," he said quietly.

"Then we have your consent? Georgiana may coach me?"

He gave a slight nod. "You must notify Mr. Armstead before each and every lesson, and for the duration keep to the paddock near the block within an easy distance of the stablemen. You may venture a little farther depending on the improvement of your skills, the level of which _I_ shall be the judge, of course. Those are my terms, Mrs. Darcy."

"I see. And are these terms negotiable?"

"No."

"I thought not." She sealed their newfound agreement with a kiss, then playfully rubbed his nose with her own. "And what else do you request of me, sir?"

"The letter!"

Elizabeth was startled by the exclamation so out of context. "The letter?"

"Lady Matlock's invitation! Forgive me, this is not a request I would normally…that is…I should like to take a look at it. With your permission, of course."

She thought for a moment, then looked at him wickedly. "No, sir."

"No?"

"Not until my own terms are met, Mr. Darcy."

She kissed him again with more passion, and as he rolled her beneath him in a strong embrace, she was certain of his preference for this brand of diplomacy.

_"In the billiard room!"_ cried Lady Catherine, nearly spilling the tea from her cup in the midst of her outburst.

"I am appalled as you are, my lady," said Mr. Collins. "A wedding breakfast is hardly the time or place for connubial pleasures…"

Charlotte sipped her own tea in silence as her husband related all that went on during both the wedding ceremony and the subsequent reception. One of his occupations had always been to keep her ladyship informed of most _every_ occurrence not only in Hunsford, but in all of Kent and beyond. The man was her eyes and ears, as her own were becoming gradually impaired of late. Charlotte, meanwhile, sat in (seemingly) reverent silence as usual and, like Anne, only spoke at her ladyship's behest. But unlike Charlotte, who was in exceedingly high spirits given her condition, Anne's countenance suggested an increasing melancholy, for she no longer sat beside her companion, Mrs. Jenkinson, during their visits, but rather now near the window to stare out into the park. At first, Charlotte wondered that Anne's illness might be advancing; but in truth, she had never believed Anne to be near as sickly as her mother had always proclaimed. She was pale to be sure, but she also rarely left the house but to accompany Lady Catherine somewhere or another, usually just to the parsonage. Anne's personal physician visited Rosings on a routine basis, but Charlotte observed that the man behaved not as a doctor, but as a servant doing only as demanded rather than as needed. Once, on a particularly lovely day, Charlotte had invited Anne to take a walk about the grounds, only to have the endeavor thwarted by her ladyship, who insisted there was a chill in the air that Anne's delicate constitution could not withstand. Charlotte had hoped Anne would protest, but as usual, Miss DeBourgh merely nodded slightly and resumed her position near the window. Charlotte could hardly blame the girl, for crossing Lady Catherine could only result in further misery.

"Why, that girl is nothing but a wanton little light-skirt!" Her ladyship exclaimed after Mr. Collins finished his narrative. "Is Pemberley to have a harem now that she's mistress?" Then to Charlotte, she asked, "Well, Mrs. Collins, what have you to say for the new _Mrs. Darcy_? I should wonder why you preserve such a friendship."

As ridiculous as Lady Catherine sounded, Charlotte knew better than to even attempt defending Lizzy's honor, therefore determining that the safe approach was the pious one.

"It is my Christian duty not to turn away from my friend, your ladyship, but to forgive her insolence and be as solid a model of propriety as possible. Then, who knows? With God's help, dear Lizzy may yet grow to be a suitable mistress."

"I find that highly unlikely, Mrs. Collins. Sure as I sit here, she will destroy the Darcy name, bearing little half-breeds she shall never learn to manage even if she had the inclination!"

"Incidentally, Mr. Collins," Charlotte said, "Though your version is well told, you did leave out one minor detail, my dear—namely that it was not Eliza who took Mr. Darcy's hand to lead him out of the ballroom, but rather the reverse." She added, "I only make mention of it, Lady Catherine, because I know you should want a full and _accurate_ account of the day's activities."

"Only to have my feelings confirmed that this union is purely sensual in nature," Lady Catherine retorted. "I should only hope my brother can talk sense to the boy, for Lord and Lady Matlock will know soon enough how unfitting a mistress she shall be."

Once again, Charlotte kept silent despite her disparity of opinion on the matter, for her own happiness was sealed and so was Elizabeth's. It would serve no purpose to arouse her ladyship's ire further with a voice of opposition, though Lady Catherine's outlandish belief that the marriage could somehow be annulled rankled her nerves a little. Charlotte was long resigned to the fact that the old woman purely had nothing better to do than to lord over others, especially her relatives, a pathetic practice that Charlotte truly pitied and her husband esteemed. Lady Catherine's regime was mostly pretense, of course. Anne DeBourgh was the only blood relation who dutifully behaved as she was told, and Charlotte could only hope, wicked as the thought may be, that either Lady Catherine may soon depart from this world so that her daughter may finally live in peace to fully thrive, or that Anne may legally claim her inheritance when she came of age and send her mother to the dowager house. The latter thought in particular caused Charlotte to let out a small laugh.

"Mrs. Collins, would you care to share with me what you suddenly find so amusing?"

"Forgive me, your ladyship." Charlotte placed her hand over her abdomen. "I was just once again expressing my joy over our expected blessing. I did not mean to interrupt."

"I see. Well, I imagine you will organize the nursery according to my specifications."

"Of course, your ladyship," said Mr. Collins. "We wish to have the optimal environment for our little one, and your advice is exceedingly welcome and shall be followed exactly. Will it not, my dear?"

"Indeed," said Charlotte.

"Pray for a healthy son every morning, Mrs. Collins, since a daughter will be of little use to you under the circumstances."

Charlotte knew her Lady Catherine spoke of Longbourn, the inheritance of which was entailed away from the female line, not that Charlotte gave a tinker's damn what the sex of her child may be. Girl or boy, this child should be brought up with the deepest love and affection. Still, she avoided an outright deception toward her ladyship.

"I shall pray fervently, Lady Catherine. Every morning and night."

"Anne was an exceedingly difficult birth. I blame the midwife, quite frankly, for her sickly state to this day. She would have died in infancy but for my most determined involvement and constant care for her well-being, for no one knew the state of my child better than I; and that is why she is with us to this day."

"Anne is very fortunate, indeed, to have such an attentive mother," said Mr. Collins.

They all looked in the direction of the window where Anne sat, wherein the gaunt young lady turned around in acknowledgement for a moment or two before returning her gaze through the thin glass that, to Charlotte, might as well be iron bars.

Lady Matlock's terse letter, as it turned out, was written in all cordiality. She expressed her and her husband's "disappointment" at having missed the wedding due to an "unfortunate misunderstanding," and requested Elizabeth along with their "dear nephew" to dine with them at their earliest convenience so that formal introductions may be made. Darcy could find neither a bitter word nor subtext in the invitation that might be construed as insulting toward Elizabeth or their marriage, not that he had expected as much. Unlike Lady Catherine, his Aunt Matlock—or Aunt Alexandra, as Darcy called her in his youth—was most often the model of decorum and the epitome of good manners; but then again, this was the first time in generations that a Darcy had married below his station. Her ladyship mingled not with country maidens but with the First Circles of London Society, was indeed good friends with at least two of the Lady Patronesses of Almack's, and had _never_, as far as he knew, made more than an acquaintance with a woman outside her own province.

As Darcy looked at his wife sitting next to him, gazing out the window of the carriage, he could not fight the fierce urge to protect her from any and all things that may harm or upset her, for as much as she proclaimed to not be nervous about this evening, she clutched his hand for the duration of the ride to Lord and Lady Matlock's estate.

At the same time, Darcy was made to remember what he already knew—that to protect is nurturing, but to _over_-protect is hobbling. In classic Darcy arrogance he wanted to be the one true governor of his wife's safety, an appeal that was irrational at best, tyrannical at worst, and would do neither of his two favorite ladies any good. He had been called on the carpet over his reflexive rebuff of Georgiana's generous offer and was forced to admit that his sister _does_ possess the aptitude and maturity to school Elizabeth in the sport of equestrianism. He also could not argue the bonding experience such lessons should afford the two of them and what such an assignment should do for Georgiana's burgeoning confidence, though the deed of teaching Elizabeth the fundamentals himself had been a personal desire of his. He could not help feeling a bit disappointed at having that occupation taken away.

_Typically selfish, Darcy. You've enough on your plate, man._

It was true. He had many duties to which to tend and had put them off long enough. Yes, Georgiana would do just fine. Bother his childish disenchantment and unfounded disquiet. For the greater good, he must swallow his self-interest and keep to himself how much he cherished his wife's company, how she brought him more comfort and peace than any other of his acquaintance—made him smile, made him laugh, made him enjoy the life into which he was born, for joy before her had mostly eluded him with as much loss as he had suffered, as much heartache, and as much obligation that had beset him throughout his life. Even in boyhood, he was constantly reminded of what he would one day inherit, of all for whom he would be responsible, and what such duties meant and entailed. George Wickham, meanwhile, grew up entirely free to roam about the grounds doing as he wished—hunting, riding, fishing—with never an expectation of accountability. But though he had every reason to, never in his youth had Darcy resented him. Rather, it was always the other way around. Why Wickham never appreciated the opportunities given to him by his godfather would forever be lost upon the man who was once to Wickham like a brother—how he had in fact squandered those prospects, gambled them away, had thought nothing of disgracing an innocent girl and the family name by eloping with Georgiana driven by not only desperation but a mammoth sense of entitlement, all the while through kind eyes scowling at Darcy with seething envy and—now that he was forever bound to the silliest of the Bennet sisters—scorching hatred.

Darcy pushed the dark thoughts of Wickham out of his mind, for he knew he would be dealing with him again soon enough, and turned his thoughts once more to his wife as the carriage pulled to a stop in front of Brassington Manor, the Derbyshire home of the earl and countess. The door was opened at near the same time Darcy watched Elizabeth take a deep breath, and he hesitated stepping out.

"You do not have to do this, Elizabeth."

She squeezed his hand. "Yes, I do."

Darcy sighed. _Of course she does. _


	8. Part 8

**Please forgive the lack of spacing between sections in the work thus far and assume that any passage from a different point of view is either a new section in a chapter, or a new chapter entirely**

As Elizabeth reflected on the evening as a whole, she decided that it was overall a success, though her beloved husband, sitting across from her in the carriage hunched over with his face in his hands, would most likely disagree.

They had arrived early to find not only Lord and Lady Matlock, but also three other guests in attendance: Col. Fitzwilliam, his eldest brother and Matlock heir, Lord Ashbourne, and the viscount's wife, Lady Ashbourne.

All eyes fell upon the new Mrs. Darcy as soon as she and William were announced by the butler, which caused Elizabeth to involuntarily squeeze her husband's arm. Thankfully, Col. Fitzwilliam's familiar and friendly face aided in easing her nerves, and she relaxed her grip as Lady Matlock approached her with a welcoming smile and arms outstretched.

"At last we meet, Mrs. Darcy," said her ladyship, taking Elizabeth's hands and leaning forward to kiss her cheek. "I thought it best to introduce you to as many Fitzwilliams as possible this evening, though our youngest son, Matthew, is away at Cambridge and could not attend—however we do expect him home for Christmas."

"I look forward to meeting him, your ladyship. I am eager to meet as much of William's family as possible, though I am already happily acquainted with the colonel," Elizabeth said, appreciating Lady Matlock's politeness toward her, though the countenance of Lord and Lady Ashbourne showed quite the opposite.

_Perhaps they are like William_, she thought. _Uncomfortable in the presence of strangers._

Elizabeth glanced at Darcy, whose eyes were fixed on Lord Ashbourne and not agreeably so. She wrinkled her nose. _Perhaps not._

"Come, my dear," said her ladyship.

Elizabeth allowed herself to be led away from her husband, who seemed reluctant to separate. As they parted, she assured him with her eyes that all was well, that he need not worry.

Lady Matlock first introduced her husband the earl, who bowed dutifully, much in the same manner Darcy had at the Meryton assembly so long ago, when Elizabeth so quickly characterized him as proud and above his company. Elizabeth reminded herself that this occasion was dissimilar, that she could not stand in amusement of those around her as would her father, that this evening was indeed critical, for she would have to _prove_ herself to this family, despite William's assertions to the contrary.

"Lord Matlock," said Elizabeth with a curtsey. "It is an honor to meet you, sir."

"I've heard much about you, Mrs. Darcy. And I look forward to knowing you better throughout the evening."

Elizabeth was not sure what to make of his lordship's statement said with little inflection; but before she could assess it, she was led to Lord and Lady Ashbourne. Elizabeth gave another curtsey to Ashbourne's sharp bow, his eyes darting up and down her person in a way that made her uncomfortable. She glanced behind her at Darcy, whose brow was furrowed even more. She had never allowed anyone of the _ton_ to intimidate her; and by God, she would not show weakness now.

"Lord Ashbourne. Lady Ashbourne."

"Mrs. Darcy," the couple said flatly in unison. Lady Ashbourne's greeting was more a spasm than a curtsey. A few awkward moments passed before the viscount spoke.

"I understand you are from Hertfordshire, Mrs. Darcy."

"I am, sir."

"It is a county with which I am scarcely familiar. Indeed you are my first acquaintance from that part of the country."

Elizabeth said smilingly, "Then we have much to talk about, your lordship, as I have little knowledge of Derbyshire. I hope we can share many stories of our homelands in the future and that you enjoy making new friends as much as I do."

Before Ashbourne could respond, Col. Fitzwilliam approached Elizabeth in his usual affable manner.

"I believe you've monopolized Mrs. Darcy's attention long enough, Stephen. I should like to greet my lovely cousin-in-law, as well."

Elizabeth was so grateful for Fitzwilliam's tension-breaking interruption that she wanted to embrace him for rescuing her, but instead smiled widely and held out her hand to him, which he immediately took.

"Colonel Fitzwilliam, I am ever so happy to see you again," she said in visible relief as he kissed her hand.

"As I said on your wedding day, Madam, you must now call me Richard! We are family now, are we not? I should like to call you Elizabeth if your husband does not protest too much."

Elizabeth laughed and affirmed that he was welcome indeed to call her by her given name. With newfound tranquility, she continued to make light and pleasant conversation with both Richard and Lady Matlock until dinner was announced. By the time she was seated at the table, Elizabeth had concluded that the first part of the evening had gone better than expected thanks to Richard, who reminded her that, though she was now mingling within an unfamiliar and mostly self-aggrandizing circle, the individuals around her were just that—_individuals_. Not beasts, not royalty, and not of the paranormal. Just people. Exceedingly wealthy, but people nonetheless; and she as a fellow human being must continuously remind herself to keep that in mind as the evening—and her _marriage—_progressed.

Dinner began quietly, and Elizabeth was reminded of her days in Kent dining at Rosings Park, where everyone at the table waited for those highest in precedence (Lady Catherine, incidentally) to begin conversation. After several minutes, Lord Matlock finally initiated a discourse.

"So, Darcy…Mrs. Darcy...would you care to relate to us how the two of you met? I imagine it must have been under the most extraordinary of circumstances."

"Not at all," said Darcy. "It was at an assembly in Meryton."

The table waited for him to continue from there, but he did not, instead helping himself to a serving of boiled potatoes offered by the footman. Elizabeth wanted to laugh at her husband's predictably terse reply that a year ago she would have mistook as hauteur. Undoubtedly, the task of supplying more detail fell upon her own shoulders.

"Mr. Darcy was in Meryton helping a dear friend, Charles Bingley, settle the affairs of an estate Mr. Bingley had just leased at the time. William attended the assembly as a guest of Mr. Bingley's."

With a scoff, Lord Ashbourne said under his breath, "That must have been torture, Darcy."

"Indeed it _was_ torture for him, Lord Ashbourne," Elizabeth said before her husband could reply in a way she feared he might, for Darcy and Ashbourne were clearly not the best of friends as William had been shooting disapproving glances in his direction since their arrival. "Everyone at the party, myself included, could see immediately," Elizabeth continued with a smile, "that he should rather be virtually anywhere else than where he was."

"Ever the societal being, eh, Darce?" Col. Fitzwilliam mocked, to which Darcy gave no response.

"And therefore you naturally fell in love with him right then and there," said Lady Ashbourne in an insinuating tone.

"Indeed not, Madam," said Darcy brusquely. Elizabeth could sense that his relations were wearing on William's nerves, which, to Elizabeth, was like admitting defeat, something she could not allow.

"In fact, William and I spoke very little that night, Lady Ashbourne—nor did we exchange many words at another local gathering where he was in coerced attendance; and the few words we did exchange were not the friendliest, I daresay. One might contend we had our first _real_ conversations upon my visit to Mr. Bingley's estate—called Netherfield Park—several days later."

"_Your_ visit?" Ashbourne inquired. "You do not mean _only_ yourself?"

"Yes, sir. In a matter of speaking. My sister, Jane, was already a guest by invitation of Mr. Bingley's two sisters, during which she had taken ill. I took it upon myself to go there and see to her until her health improved." With a smile, Elizabeth added, "She and Mr. Bingley are now married."

Elizabeth purposely neglected to mention her three-mile hike to Netherfield in weather that left her hair a fallen fright and her boots thoroughly caked in mud. Better not to open that Pandora's Box revealing what a hoyden their Darcy had married.

"I see," said Lady Ashbourne. "She had fallen ill while staying in his home. And now she is married to him. How interesting."

Elizabeth had already come to expect Lady Ashbourne's patronizing inferences reminiscent of Caroline Bingley. It had been utterly vexing at the time, but Elizabeth now could only feel gratitude for having spent so much time in Miss Bingley's company, for she now easily recognized and knew fully how to handle such thinly-veiled disdain.

"Yes, Ma'am. They are very much in love, and I could not be happier for them."

"Nor I," Darcy said.

Elizabeth could not help but glance over at Lady Matlock, who appeared to be studying her keenly, but who had not yet come to her aid in light of her daughter-in-law's rudeness. Her ladyship's stone silence made Elizabeth wonder if her kindliness toward her was only superficial and that she was content to watch the new Mrs. Darcy squirm inside the lions' den of Society; but as much as Elizabeth wanted to pass that judgment, she refrained, reminding herself that she did not yet really _know_ the countess.

"So it was at this Netherfield where you fell in love then," Lord Matlock presumed.

"No, sir," replied Elizabeth, and casting an affectionate eye toward her husband said, "In fact, hardly a moment passed between us when we did not argue."

Darcy subtly returned her loving glance with his own.

"Wait a minute, Darcy," said Lord Matlock. "I seem to remember you mentioning something about going to the country on business with a friend of yours who had just leased an estate—that was over a year ago! Do you mean to tell us, Mrs. Darcy, that our nephew courted you for a year entire?"

"Now _I_ must interject, Father," said Col. Fitzwilliam. "For last Easter in Kent I had the pleasure of meeting Elizabeth during our yearly visit to Rosings, and I can attest to the fact that at that time your nephew was _not_ courting her, that they were quite still at odds, in fact."

"In Kent? What a remarkable coincidence!" said Lord Ashbourne with a smirk. "And how did you happen to be in that part of the country at the same time as my cousin, Mrs. Darcy?" Upon his pointed question, Elizabeth inwardly decided that Ashbourne and his wife made an excellent match.

"She was there before me, Stephen," Darcy answered in a steely voice. "Visiting a friend in Hunsford. Entirely unaware of my impending visit or that Lady Catherine was my aunt."

"As you say, Darcy," surrendered Ashbourne, who then added, "Though I fail to see how you could say that in all certainty."

"Enough of this," Lady Matlock said in exasperation when it seemed quite apparent that Darcy was one word away from calling her eldest son out. "Clearly circumstances threw the two of you into one another's company on several occasions, and now you are married. Mrs. Darcy is a guest in this house, and I will have no more of this inquisition. She and William are to be congratulated, not interrogated."

The rest of the dinner passed in relative silence, but Elizabeth remained optimistic, despite Lord and Lady Ashbourne's incivility, for her regard for Lady Matlock had now risen to new heights. After dinner, the earl proposed that the gentlemen join him for a glass of port in his study, to which his wife heartily agreed so that she may become better acquainted with her new niece (afore niece_-in-law,_ Elizabeth noted). The ladies and gentlemen separated, and Elizabeth found herself in the sitting room with Lady Matlock and Lady Ashbourne. Elizabeth had decided to use this time in order to better understand Lady Ashbourne, for she hated the idea that she should have yet another adversary among her new family members. Conversation started amicably enough between the three women, but before any sort of progress could be made, Lord Ashbourne was heard demanding the servants bring the carriage around just before he stormed into the sitting room. He halted abruptly in front of Lady Matlock, who was decidedly calm despite her son's agitated state.

"I am afraid we must take our leave a little earlier than expected, Mother. You will forgive us, I hope."

"Of course, my dear," said her ladyship as though this occurrence was wholly expected.

Ashbourne glanced at Elizabeth and with a sharp bow muttered, "Mrs. Darcy," and to his wife simply said, "Come."

Lady Ashbourne immediately stood to accompany her husband. Elizabeth was compelled to stand herself, alarmed by the asperity of his manner.

"Has anything happened, Lord Ashbourne? Has someone given you offense?"

Without looking at her, he curtly replied, "I am perfectly well, Mrs. Darcy. I bid you good evening." Lady Ashbourne bid a hurried good evening, as well, then followed Ashbourne out of the room. Elizabeth sat back down in relative disquiet to the countess's seamless composure.

"Lady Matlock, I cannot help but think I am the cause of your son's sudden departure," Elizabeth said after several silent moments had passed.

Her ladyship sighed heavily. "I believe most of the mistakes I've made with my children have been made with Stephen," she said. "He was thoroughly spoilt as a child, and I stood by in silence while he was taught to think meanly of most everyone outside our own sphere."

"I have acquaintances brought up in a similar fashion," said Elizabeth, recalling a near identical conversation she'd had with William upon his second proposal, wherein he had confessed:

_I was given good principles, but left to follow them in pride and conceit…I was spoilt by my parents, who encouraged, almost taught me to be selfish and overbearing; to care for none beyond my own family circle; to think meanly of all the rest of the world; to __wish__ at least to think meanly of their sense and worth compared with my own. _

"However," she continued, "I do believe people have the power to change should they wish it."

"Which I assure you he does not, Elizabeth. May I call you Elizabeth?"

"Certainly, your ladyship."

"Oh, bother! Please, call me Alexandra."

"I could not possibly!"

"Very well—then call me _Aunt_ Alexandra. And speaking of change," said her ladyship with a sudden shift in tone. "I am glad to have a few private minutes with you, Elizabeth, as I believe we have much to discuss. I have noted a distinct change in my niece, Georgiana's, demeanor, since the last time she paid us an extended visit; and I suspect that this change is due—at least in part—to _your_ guidance. "

Elizabeth was unsure if she was about to be censured, and therefore braced herself before answering, "I will not deny, Ma'am, that I have actively pursued the endeavor to bring my husband's dear sister out of her shell, for I found her to be terribly shy when first we met, despite all evidence of being a most accomplished and intelligent young lady. But I assure you I have _never_ encouraged her to be disrespectful."

"Nor has she been," replied Lady Matlock with a smile. "Indeed, to find her so evolved in such a short span of time left me with quite the impression. She undoubtedly looks up to you, more so than I think anyone else who has come into her life, starved as the girl has always been for a mother at least comparable to her own. I have done the best I can to replace Anne Darcy these past ten years, but I have not spent the sort of time with Georgie that a true mother should, nor have I the ability to offer the kind of friendship and affection a girl of her nature needs. She is gifted, I believe, and requires not merely encouragement, but _inspiration_ to flourish. You have inspired her, Elizabeth; and I daresay you may very well be the making of her."

Elizabeth was at a loss for words. The last thing she expected was to be lauded in such a manner by the Countess of Matlock upon their first meeting. But before she could respond to such praise, her ladyship continued.

"That being said, you also are _not_ one of us, my dear. Surely you know that by marrying a Darcy you have entered a decidedly different—and often viciously cruel—new world."

"I do understand that, your lady…Aunt Alexandra."

"Do you?"

"Yes, Ma'am. I have borne numerous insults—both subtle and most _un_subtle—from certain members of the _ton, _most notably—do forgive me—from your own sister-in-law."

"Yes, yes. I am well aware of Catherine's displeasure and understand you've endured a verbal thrashing from the woman. Such courage in the face of such malevolence is to be praised, indeed. However, I do not speak of hysterical dowagers who may snarl like a tigress, but possess no power to speak of. I have dealt with Catherine's delusionary ravings these thirty-plus years. Such insufferable widows in the Beau Monde may be easily ignored. Rather, I speak of women of _undeniable_ influence in society who had been keeping a close eye on my nephew as a match for one their own daughters these last many years. I speak of said daughters who shall loathe the air you breathe for taking away a most valuable prospect and who shall remind you relentlessly of your inferiority in comparison to themselves. You may expect this treatment for at least the first year of your marriage. Trust me, my dear, the gossip has already begun and will not cease for the foreseeable future; therefore, it is best to face it head on and trudge through it. No matter where you go in town, whether it be a mere tea house or a ball thrown in your own honor, you shall be met with controversy, condescension, scrutiny, and snobbery. Now, Mrs. Darcy…do you still proclaim to have full understanding of what I mean?"

Elizabeth swallowed hard at the gravity of Lady Matlock's speech and took many moments of serious thought before answering.

"Perhaps William is right. Perhaps we are better off remaining at Pemberley and away from London for as long and as often as possible. We are very happy, after all; and one could not ask for a more beautiful sanctuary."

"Nonsense!" Her ladyship cried. "Much as I am sure you love your husband, my dear, you are _not_ Darcy. No, you are a social creature, Elizabeth—a woman of spirit. And you shall not allow the town tabbies to force _you_ into seclusion. Not only for yourself, but for your _children_ and for generations of Darcys to come."

"You undoubtedly have much experience in the matter, Aunt Alexandra. Or the _game_, as it were."

"I know the essentials backwards and forwards, I daresay. And believe me, though you may want to run screaming before a year has passed, you shall rejoice upon the eventual earning of your acceptance and fear no evil from that day forward. Is that not a lovely thought?"

At that, Elizabeth could not prevent herself from laughing. "I know not whether to call your ladyship thoroughly wise or thoroughly mad!"

To Elizabeth's surprise, Lady Matlock joined in her laughter. "All I ask is that you wait a year complete before passing that judgment. Now, first thing's first. When do you expect your new wardrobe from the modiste?"

"I beg your pardon, Ma'am?"

"Your new gowns, of course. Not that what you're wearing tonight isn't lovely, my dear. But you have such sparkling dark eyes and a most pleasing figure. Surely my nephew has arranged for you to be fitted for the best that London has to offer."

"I…that is…William and I have not…"

"Have not what?"

Lady Matlock's expression was beginning to worry Elizabeth, though wherefore was unclear. "We have not yet patronized the shops of London in order to…"

"Just a moment, please. Am I to understand, Mrs. Darcy, that while honeymooning in town, you visited _no_ dress-shops? That no measurements were taken? That the whole of your trousseau is thus far from the county of Hertfordshire?"

Elizabeth blushed in response, which was apparently enough for Lady Matlock, who then jerked herself out of her throne-like chair and stormed out of the room just as her son had conversely done mere minutes ago.

The quarrelling had begun between Darcy and Ashbourne near the moment they reached the study. Darcy had never much cared for this particular cousin five years his senior, who valued his inherited title far more than any duties that may be assigned to it. While Darcy acknowledged himself guilty of conceit by birthright, he despised the idle nobleman who reaped the benefits of his wealth and rank in the peerage, but saw his responsibilities as little beyond being seen in town, giving orders, and keeping those beneath him in their proper place. Though Ashbourne was still legally a commoner, he manifestly behaved as a peer in anticipation of his endowment upon his father's death, something that had always disgusted Darcy to no end given his own beloved father's premature death which brought him naught but grief. When Ashbourne once again intimated that Elizabeth had ensnared Darcy into marriage through a string of strategic "chance" encounters, Darcy's patience had reached its utmost limit.

"Think what you wish, Stephen, as your opinion means as much to me as the rug beneath my feet, but you shall not insult Mrs. Darcy, nor question her virtue in my presence again."

Ashbourne, who both Darcy and Col. Fitzwilliam knew _hated_ being called by his given name over and above being cautioned by someone lower in rank, took a few steps toward Darcy in a futile effort to intimidate him.

"It is Lord Ashbourne, and how dare you threaten me? Who are _you_, Darcy? More to the purpose, who is _she_?"

In the next instant, Darcy had Ashbourne by the lapels of his tailcoat and forced against a wall, wherein Darcy stared down his cousin with scarcely contained fury.

"She is my _wife_. And you _will_ keep a civil tongue."

Col. Fitzwilliam stepped in to break apart the two men as Lord Matlock charged upon them.

"Cease this nonsense at once, the both of you! One would think you were boys of twelve all over again!"

Ashbourne maintained a distance between himself and Darcy before pointing an accusing finger. "You bloody hypocrite! Suddenly preservation of class and distinction mean _nothing_ to you? Such a union you would not permit for your own sister!"

"Then judge your cousin as it pleases you, Stephen," said the earl wearily. "But the marriage is done, and no amount of discourtesy on your end shall change that fact."

"Forgive _my_ incomprehension, Brother," said Col. Fitzwilliam. "Perhaps my inferior birth prevents me from understanding why you should give a damn one way or another."

"I do not, I assure you," said Ashbourne before shouting the order to have his carriage brought around. He could not help adding one last crack before taking his leave. "'Tis Darcy's line that shall suffer, not mine."

Both Darcy and Col. Fitzwilliam found more humor in this final remark than offense, the two men having shared a contempt for the viscount since their youth. Darcy knew Richard's dislike was on a far more personal level, stemming from what the colonel had always perceived as the arrant unfairness of not having been born, but rather_ regarded,_ as a second son. Darcy had always wished Fitzwilliam saw himself more as the master of his own fate, rather than a man doomed to the purgatory of living amongst the upper classes whilst never wholly accepted as one of them.

As the two men took a seat at Lord Matlock's request, the earl went to pour himself a glass of port.

"I shall not bore you, Darcy, with your Aunt Catherine's fervent objections with which you are well familiar and no doubt indifferent, nor will I risk a blow to the jaw with any questions regarding your wife's character. You have made your position on _that_ matter perfectly clear. However, I do have what I consider to be reasonable concerns regarding the lady's family—in particular, a certain Lydia Bennet, now Lydia _Wickham_.

"I am no happier than you are, Uncle, to have George Wickham as a relation, but there was simply nothing else for it."

"You have always been a lad of good sense, Nephew, and if your integrity matches your father's I can even see having a hand in bringing the marriage about. But to then attach the Darcy name to such a family as this…"

"You will forgive me, Uncle, but I find it a bit naïve to presume that only a girl of ill-breeding could possibly be susceptible to the charms of George Wickham. The man has seduced a spectrum of young ladies, from abigails to bluestockings to baronesses."

"It is true, Father," Col. Fitzwilliam offered.

"All the more reason to wonder how or why you would vie for the _sister_ of his young wife, thereby accepting—indeed, _petitioning_—this public menace as your brother-in-law. Do you not see this is why an entrapment—even a faultless one—seemed entirely probable?"

Darcy sighed heavily. Much as he hated divulging any of his private matters, he simply could not allow this theory that Elizabeth was in any way compromised to continue.

"I…Wickham was the least of my concerns when I made my offer to Elizabeth, nor did our marriage come about through anything other than…" Darcy had to swallow the lump in his throat. _Blast this conversation!_

"Than what? Love?"

At that moment, Darcy felt compelled to apologize to his uncle for the weakness that went against all he'd been taught, the weakness that had consumed him day and night for months on end giving way to near madness. But then his mind conjured Elizabeth's eyes, her smile, her soft skin and long, luscious curls—_No!_ Damned if he should feel guilty for the joy he now felt with her by his side.

"I shall take full responsibility for Wickham as I have been, and, God willing, my family shall have limited if _any_ contact with the man…"

"Upon which I should be more than happy to be of service, Cousin," said Col. Fitzwilliam in earnest, wherein Darcy nodded in gratitude before continuing, looking the earl square in his steel blue eyes.

"But I love Elizabeth more than my life, Uncle. I hope to have your blessing, but I shall never regret the decision I have made."

The room fell silent after that for many moments as Lord Matlock downed what was left in his glass.

"Well," said his lordship at last. "Then I guess all that is left to talk about is our plans for Christmas."

Darcy slumped over in his chair and breathed a sigh of relief as a laughing Col. Fitzwilliam gave him a hearty slap on the back.

Suddenly, a fuming Lady Matlock barged into the room, followed by Elizabeth, who appeared distraught. All the men turned toward her ladyship with respective looks of surprise and bewilderment as she cast an icy gaze full on Darcy. Her voice hinted of narrowly repressed composure.

"Richard, Husband—I should like a word with my nephew in private if you do not mind. Mrs. Darcy may stay."

Lord Matlock and Col. Fitzwilliam exchanged curious glances, but decided against asking any questions (wisely, perhaps), choosing instead to quit the room immediately, wherein Lady Matlock shut the door behind them and once again faced an addled Darcy, who stood up as though beckoned to do so.

"I am astonished at you, Fitzwilliam."

Darcy flinched, as he had not been called _Fitzwilliam_ by Aunt Alexandra since the top of his head reached her waist, though he could hardly begin to guess the reason behind her anger. His eyes darted between his worried wife and incensed aunt.

"What is this about?"

"Just when were you planning to supply your wife a wardrobe befitting the _Mistress of Pemberley_?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You know full well of what I speak, young man! Here you are a full fortnight married and your wife has not even been _fitted_ for suitable attire. How is this possible?"

Elizabeth was wringing her hands together. "Your ladyship, please—"

"It is not to be borne, my dear, and certainly not in _this_ family, that a groom should _neglect_ to see to his bride's trousseau. I ask you, Elizabeth—who saw to your wedding clothes?"

"My…my mother and Aunt Gardiner, Ma'am—which your nephew most generously financed by his own insistence. As to the rest, well…the subject was raised once by my aunt, and I did not know how to answer. In truth, I thought little of the matter, so it is as much _my_ fault as anyone else's. I just assumed that…in due course…"

"You are a modest woman, Elizabeth. And decidedly green; therefore, I can accept these answers. My nephew, on the other hand…"

Darcy had already sunk back into his chair, shocked by his own stupidity and utterly shamed by the woman he _knew_ was in the right. Though unconsciously done, he _had_ neglected to see to Elizabeth's new wardrobe and was far more interested in holding her captive in London so that he may ravage her to his heart's content whilst protecting her from the lofty looks and rude remarks of Society. She had wished to go out, to see the beauty of London in autumn on his arm; and he had objected fervently with feeble excuses about the weather without a thought for the things she would _require_ from him as his wife, mistress of his home, and future mother of his children. He knew not what to say, for there was no argument he could possibly make. Lady Matlock stared down at Darcy's rueful form.

"Do you realize it is all over town that you are _ashamed_ of your wife?"

Darcy stood abruptly, nearly overcome by such an allegation. He raked his hands through his hair and walked across the room, unable to face either of the two women, as her ladyship continued.

"I dismissed the gossip at first, as Georgiana assured me it was unsubstantiated, that there was no man more in love than you were—"

"Lady Matlock, I must insist that you stop," said Elizabeth, who was almost in tears. Her ladyship turned to her.

"You do not understand, my dear. This is not a mere oversight, but a profoundly serious matter that may determine the course of not only _your_ standing in society, but dear Georgiana's, for perception _is_ reality. Darcy knows this as much as anyone in the First Circles. A wife who is not to be seen will take much away from Georgiana's coming out, I assure you, for _you_ shall be the center of focus, and as an exhibition, a freak show! I know well the sequence of events, Mrs. Darcy, and have seen countless women destroyed by the likes of the Beau Monde. I have lived this life for many, _many_ years."

"Be that as it may, Ma'am, I cannot allow you to shame my husband further."

Her ladyship touched her head as though it were pounding. "Very well, my dear—for I confess I do share blame in this, as well. After Anne Darcy's death, I took the burden of clothing her daughter upon myself, as dressing young ladies is hardly a man's province, and he as a lad of only seventeen accepted my offer gratefully. Thus it has been my charge ever since. Had my nephew more experience in the matter, I am sure he would have thought better of this."

Darcy faced his aunt in full beseeching mode. "What am I to do? Tell me, Aunt."

"We must make haste. It is too late to venture to London. I shall send word express to my own dress-maker and _beg_ Madame Chantal to come to Derbyshire as soon as possible. I am sure I can convince her if we pay her handsomely."

"Anything, Aunt. _Anything_."

"And upon the completion of her wardrobe, I shall start arrangements for a ball in Mrs. Darcy's honor. At Almack's."

Elizabeth took in a sharp breath. "Almack's? But how…?"

"It will take some thorough convincing, but I know the Lady Patronesses well, particularly the Countess of Sefton and Viscountess Castlereagh."

Lady Matlock stepped toward Elizabeth and took her hand.

"We will make this right, my dear. All will be well. And please accept my apologies for scolding your husband so. One can plainly see that the two of you are very much in love, but Society _must_ see it, as well. May I count on your cooperation?"

Elizabeth nodded. "You may."

"Excellent! Than that is settled. Now I am afraid we must bid each other good evening, for I have a throbbing headache."

"William?"

Darcy looked up from the floor of the carriage briefly to meet Elizabeth's eyes, but soon looked down again. Unable to bear seeing him in such a state, she moved to sit next to him and rubbed his shoulder.

"Dearest, please look at me."

He shook his head. "How can you ever forgive me? What I have done is unpardonable."

She leaned against him and embraced his arm. "Yet I love you just the same. I have never much cared for the fripperies of London fashion—"

"Please, Elizabeth. We must acknowledge and accept my utter idiocy in this matter. Lady Matlock may represent a society for which I have little use, but she was correct in her admonishment of me. And of my inherent, bloody _selfishness_ that sought to keep you indoors and away from their stares and their scrutiny."

"You are the best man I know. And I believe you are far harder on yourself than your aunt could ever be."

He looked at her in desperation. "It had not even occurred to me, as it should have, to take you to the London shops directly when upon our engagement—"

"William, please—"

"Please, let me finish. I was abominably selfish, because the truth is I am frightened by change and in no rush at all to watch you physically transform into one of _them_. Indeed, I am quite fond of your simple gowns that represent more the woman you are rather than the so-called latest in London fashion. But it is absurd! Of course, you _must_ make this transition, for you are Elizabeth Bennet no longer; however, I confess I shall mourn the loss of her."

She lovingly stroked his cheek with the back of her fingers. "Dear Mr. Darcy…I shall always be that country girl you fell in love with despite your own fervent objections. I shall always be your Elizabeth."

Darcy took her hand and kissed it. Elizabeth smiled and sat up resolutely.

"And _I_ shall be the one to choose these fashions, after all," she said. "And I shall choose in accordance with my own sense of style and taste—not that of a French modiste. Be warned, Mr. Darcy. When first you see me in my new ball gown, you shall not be disconcerted, but rather scarcely able to keep your hands off of me." She then whispered seductively, "Therefore I must advise you well in advance to behave yourself."

She kissed him softly, but in a way she hoped tantalized him. Clearly he got the message, for he took her face in his hands, lightly brushing her cheeks with his thumbs.

"I offer no promises, Mrs. Darcy," he said before returning her modest kiss with a much more passionate one.


	9. Part 9

**DISCLAIMER**

This shall be my last posting for awhile as I work on more chapters and decide where else to take the story. I appreciate all the comments, encouragement and feedback! :-)

It was ultimately decided that the nearest relations on _all_ sides of the family would be invited to Pemberley for Christmas, including the Bingleys, Bennets, Fitzwilliams, even the Hursts. Darcy was not at first keen on the idea of having so many guests their first Christmas together, admitting his preference to having the pleasure of Elizabeth and Georgiana's company all to himself, but the two ladies cornered him with logic, making the case that a merry holiday such as this was the perfect opportunity to have those from vastly different parts of the country (and society) both meet and commingle, thus further solidifying the marriage, not to mention having the task over and done. Elizabeth, with a bit of counsel from Lady Matlock, was also ready for a trial run of playing the hostess to a number of guests both large and incongruent, expressing the belief that diving into the challenge straight away would give her the edge for future occasions she would be required to hold as Mrs. Darcy. Though her husband countered that so many disparate personalities under one roof may prove disastrous, he ceded to the request with the hope that Elizabeth would not come to regret it. At the very least, he was grateful that the hosting turf should be his own, for as master not only could he play the part of regulator, a role with which he was most comfortable, but he was well familiar with all hiding places in the house should any particular family members, be it by blood or by law, weigh too much upon his nerves. Elizabeth penned the letters amidst an abundance of other duties, including regular meetings with Mrs. Reynolds regarding household matters, the arranging of Christmas gifts for all the servants and tenants, menu planning with Cook, riding lessons with Georgiana, and choosing dress patterns with Lady Matlock and Madame Chantal, enduring the poking of pins and being spun around like a music box ballerina. Lady Matlock assured Elizabeth during the hours-long fitting sessions that Col. Fitzwilliam and her youngest son, Matthew, would be along together to take full advantage of her hospitality, and that she and her husband would be present for Christmas dinner. Though Lord and Lady Ashbourne were also invited, Lady Matlock took it upon herself to send both regrets and regards on their behalf.

Elizabeth even extended an invitation to Lady Catherine and her daughter, though she felt certain the woman would decline if not simply ignore the offer, especially after Darcy insisted on adding his own postscript to the letter stating that respect toward Mrs. Darcy was a mandatory condition and that any form of incivility shall not be tolerated. The most delicate matter, of course, was that of Mr. and Mrs. Wickham, who most certainly could _not_ be received at Pemberley as a pair. In truth, Elizabeth frowned upon the idea of having Lydia at all, for no sister vexed her to distraction as did she, close as she came to separating her from William forever with her shameful behavior. It was just before the wedding when she had received the girl's last letter—presumably to wish her joy—only to find it more of a petition for funds, citing the comfort of Elizabeth's forthcoming situation that should afford her to be most generous toward she and her "dear Wickham." Elizabeth was hardly surprised by such an entreaty (though having come quicker than expected), and had acted upon it with a modest donation from her own private account in order to lay any further pleas to rest for the next year or so at least, for she had learnt that Jane also had received a similar letter of "congratulations" and would be sending her own subsequent (and likely more generous) contribution. Elizabeth had decided against informing William of the money sent to them, as he'd made it clear to her—with Mr. Thatcher as a witness—that he implicitly trusted her judgment with regard to her pin money and would no doubt feel obliged to handle himself any and all appeals from the Wickhams. After William's generosity in digging her and her sisters out of potential devastation, Elizabeth was determined not to disturb her husband further with the likes of either of them. After numerous attempts to summon her Christmas spirit so that she may write the blasted letter as a gesture of goodwill and generosity, she finally threw down the pen, causing splatters of ink to scatter among the blank pages before her.

_ Oh, bother Lydia! Stupid, stupid girl!_

Elizabeth stood from the writing desk in a state of agitation and began pacing the room, thoughts of including and excluding Lydia conflicting her greatly—the former filling her with anger, the latter with guilt. How was such a girl to be managed, this impertinent chit with no sense to speak of and entirely oblivious to the consequences of her actions, yet the perpetual favorite of their mother given their similarities in character, and therefore left free to behave with a mortifying lack of decorum? Elizabeth and Jane, though from no lack of attempts, held with Lydia no influence at all, and Kitty's idolization of her merely validated the girl's temperament. Mr. Bennet, in his neglect to reign her in at an earlier age which led to a most impulsive elopement with a man not only morally vile but near penniless, finally expressed full accountability and remorse over how his youngest turned out, albeit far too late. Darcy, in seeing to it that Elizabeth not become ruined herself as a result of Lydia's reckless folly, quickly arranged the marriage by paying off Wickham's sizable debts and purchasing him a cozy commission in Newcastle where the couple now reside, though apparently not as comfortably as a frivolous girl of sixteen should like. Already she was starting to see the lack of romance (or amusement, for that matter) in increasing poverty and was beginning straight off in letting her richest sister know it. But though benevolence was in Elizabeth's nature, why should she and others suffer further Lydia's remorseless, ridiculous—

"Elizabeth?"

She paused her treading about the room to glance in the direction of her husband standing in the doorway looking concerned. She did not want to bother him with this matter, but saw no way around it lest she wear a hole in the expensive Oriental rug. He listened intently as she related to him her quandary, deciding finally to ask him his opinion on the matter, hoping that he would put an end to her torment by firmly declaring the youngest Bennet sister too much to be endured. To both Elizabeth's surprise and further vexation, he merely shrugged.

"Of course Lydia is welcome to Pemberley if that is your wish."

She exhaled sharply. "It is _not_ my wish!"

"Do you intend to abandon her?"

Elizabeth resumed her pacing. "Of course not! I just…I just wish to be angry with her a little longer."

"To what end?"

"That I may not murder her in her bed!"

Darcy stepped in front of her and halted her stride with a strong embrace, which only inspired the tears that had been stinging her eyes to stream down her cheeks. He shushed her gently and murmured into her hair.

"I think you should invite her, dearest."

She looked up at him. "Oh, you cannot mean that knowing all too well what she is like! And what of _Wickham_? What if he—"

"He may accompany her, if for no other reason than to antagonize me, upon which I shall handle the situation accordingly. But you must comprehend that Wickham is _mine_ to manage, for no one knows or understands him better than I, just as you know and understand your sister. Do not ever let Wickham be the deciding factor that should come between you and your family, but otherwise deal with Lydia as you see fit."

"I see fit to turn her over my knee and lash her with a riding crop as my father should have done years ago."

Darcy sniggered. "Why such vitriol?"

Elizabeth looked down, begging her tears not to fall, but at the painful memory her control was lost. "I shall never forget that day in Lambton when I received Jane's letters telling me what happened. I shall never forget the dread I felt that should never…"

"Yes?"

"That I should never see you again! And when you came to me, so attentive and kind, but in the end so impassive as though any further involvement was impossible…"

"Is that what you thought?"

Elizabeth nodded, where upon Darcy placed his hands on either side of her face, fixing his eyes on her. "And where are you, Elizabeth?"

There was a long pause before she answered. "I am here. With you."

He kissed her forehead. "And where shall you always be?"

She met his gaze in full understanding of his meaning. "Right here. With _you_."

He kissed her lips tenderly, then began backing away from her. "Of course you must make whatever decision you feel is best." As he made his way toward the door, he added, "But I must advise you, Mrs. Darcy, to learn some of my philosophy. Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure."

With a final wink, William exited the room. Elizabeth smiled to herself and gave a silent Prayer of Thanks for the model of equanimity that was her husband. She calmly sat back down to the writing desk, for she now had her answer. She picked up the pen and began the task of writing the letter.


	10. Part 9 5

**one last teaser**

:-)

The week leading up to Christmas Day found Pemberley a whirlwind of activity between the upper servants preparing bedrooms, many of which hadn't been used in ages, the lower servants scrubbing floors, cleaning out chimneys and laundering linens, the kitchen staff marching in and out with a variety of meats, poultry, fish, fruits and vegetables to be prepared for the unprecedented amount of guests, and Mr. Bridges and Mrs. Reynolds overseeing it all under the direct supervision of Mrs. Darcy while the master tended to business outside of the home. Darcy much looked forward to the day when Elizabeth could ride well enough to accompany him on estate business; but for now, he must tend to such matters on his own, having just departed one of his tenants' farms and now examining on horseback the vast plains of his property for optimum hunting grounds.

Though fox-hunting held no particular interest to Darcy, having once made a heartbreaking decision to shoot one of his beloved Thoroughbreds after the animal fractured a leg during a particularly strenuous excursion, he looked forward to shooting pheasant with Bingley, Fitzwilliam and Mr. Hurst, who, despite his propensity to do little more than eat and drink while indoors, was in fact a marvelous sportsman out of doors and good company in a hunting party. As he inspected the terrain, Darcy thought about all the other guests that he and his wife would be hosting and how to see to their respective pleasure and well-being. No doubt Mr. Bennet would prefer Pemberley's extensive library to hunting, as would Matthew Fitzwilliam, a student at Cambridge whom the family felt was fast becoming a Scholar on the subjects of History and Literature. The youngest Fitzwilliam brother, having accepted long ago without resentment that his situation in life would decidedly _not_ involve a title or an inheritance, took to his books at a young age and has ever kept to the task of filling his mind with as much knowledge as possible with regards to the subjects about which he was most passionate. Thinking on this, Darcy felt Mary Bennet may find much in common with the lad, and perhaps even a match could be made, though Matthew was not prone as Mary was to pontificate and may find her sentiments recited near verbatim from the readings of pompous moralizers as insufferable as most others. For Catherine Bennet, Darcy felt Georgiana would be as excellent a role model as Elizabeth was for Georgie. Surely the two girls being so close in age would have much to talk about, and Georgiana much to teach her, though Lydia Bennet may prove to be a fly in the ointment. Other than the colonel, who would no doubt be put off by her inanity, there would be no soldiers for the young lady to flirt with and no dancing (he and his wife both decided), so she may find the whole of her visit exceedingly dull beyond ordering around the servants. As for Wickham, though the man was told years ago (and several times since) to never again attempt crossing Pemberley's threshold, Darcy suspected he may very well use his own wife to make the effort with the belief that Darcy would rather accept his company than cause a scene in throwing the wretch out. In this as in many other things, Wickham underestimated his former friend, for under the surface of Darcy's being lived a cobra that would not hesitate to strike at _any_ man who remained a potential threat to his family. He may, however, need to enlist the aid of Col. Fitzwilliam to keep the possibility of a spectacle to a minimum, a charge Richard would gladly accept at a moment's notice; but Darcy decided to table that possibility for the moment and concentrate on the further preparation of the occasion. On a lighter note, Jane and Elizabeth would be together once again, and Darcy smiled at the thought of how happy Elizabeth would be upon the Bingleys' arrival. The two ladies will probably want to share a room for a night or two so that they may talk until dawn as was their custom growing up at Longbourn, a thought that did not sit well with Darcy, for Elizabeth had not spent a night away from him in the full six weeks of their marriage. Traditionally, married couples in his circle slept in their own respective rooms after conjugal union (if they even engaged in such an activity with one another), but Darcy rationalized that this practice was nonsense due to the waste of energy in trading one perfectly good bed for another, and certainly _not_ because without her presence he would have difficulty in finding peaceful slumber.

Caroline Bingley and Mrs. Hurst would only prove tolerable if they could manage at least a measure of politeness toward Elizabeth, who assured him she had the utmost confidence that Miss Bingley's behavior would show a vast improvement during her visit. Darcy harrumphed in disagreement, but trusted his wife's judgment in this matter as in the matter of his mother-in-law, whose boisterous behavior, marginal intelligence and utter absence of poise was at times near maddening. How on Earth did such a woman bear the love of his life, and why the devil cannot Mr. Bennet suppress her brazenly undignified conduct? Furthermore, Darcy thought with a smirk, how was Charles getting on living in such close proximity given Mrs. Bennet's unrepentant preference for the opulence of Netherfield and Bingley's excessively kind nature that made it impossible for him to lay his foot down so that he and his wife may have some peace? Upon this consideration, Darcy simply had to contend that he himself had no room for complaint given his dear friend's self-imposed prison sentence of sharing his _life_, rather than a mere week-long holiday, with the Bennet Family.

With a heavy sigh, Darcy started back toward the house, concluding that, in any case or character, all was settled. The responses came quickly, the guest total was confirmed, the decorations were displayed, the meals were planned, and there was no calling off what may be one of the most trying weeks his already limited patience had ever endured.


	11. Part 10

"Matthew, can you put the bloody book away for an hour?" Col. Fitzwilliam asked in growing frustration of his brother having scarcely looked up from his volume since their departure by carriage from Matlock. "I daresay Napoleon himself would be better company on the road."

"You pass the time your way, and I shall pass it mine."

"You do realize that we are on holiday, that it has been sanctioned by University that your studies may rest for the completion of the year?"

Matthew Fitzwilliam marked the place in his book and set it aside. "Very well. What should you like to talk about? We could discuss the war if you like."

"As entertaining as that sounds, Brother, we are on our way to our own battle zone, namely The Battle of Pemberley, wherein families from all walks of life and manners of temperament shall be under the same roof for a sennight."

"Is that why you wore your regimentals?"

"I wonder that, myself." Fitzwilliam surveyed his own attire. "I received a cryptic note from Darcy last night requesting that I wear them the day of our arrival. Very strange request, but not an arbitrary one, I am sure, knowing our cousin."

"Personally, I see no reason why families of different class distinctions should not congregate, speaking of arbitrary. Should not one's character determine one's worth, rather than his rank in the peerage or the value of his family's estate?"

Col. Fitzwilliam grinned at his youngest brother's naiveté and muttered, "More ideals from Should Land."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Not that I do not appreciate such wisdom from the mouths of babes, for I much prefer that there be one like you in our family over _two_ like Stephen."

Matthew merely shook his head in response and began to return to his book.

"Not so fast, Brother," said Fitzwilliam. "I believe we have arrived."

The two men were received by Bridges and several footmen to gather their things from the carriage.

"So where is the master of the house, Bridges? In his study, sir," Fitzwilliam both asked and answered in unison with the butler's own response.

"Richard! Matthew!" Georgiana ran out to greet them, fully embracing each brother over the more traditional kiss to the cheek. "I am so happy to see you! We are to have the merriest Christmas in the world!"

"Good Lord! Is this my cousin, Georgiana Darcy?" Matthew asked in mock surprise.

"The very one!"

"No, you cannot be her, for your eyes are looking directly in mine and not at the ground."

"Oh, do you stop your teasing, Cousin. Come, you must meet Elizabeth. She'd have welcomed you herself, but she has been so terribly busy all morning, so I told her _I_ would greet you both. Did I not do a good job?" Georgiana linked her arm with Matthew's and began leading him away, calling over her shoulder, "Richard, William asked that he should see you right away. He is in his study."

"In his study," Richard harmonized as he started in that direction, and, with a grumble, added, "Yes, the cold porridge shall go see to Darcy."

As Fitzwilliam made his way through the west end of the first floor, avoiding the comings and goings of servants carrying various forms of baggage, he came upon Miss Bingley, whom he had first met and briefly spoken with at the wedding, but had not recalled her as being a particularly cheerful person as she appeared at this moment.

"Colonel Fitzwilliam! Such a pleasure to see you again! You and your family are well, I hope?"

Fitzwilliam bowed. "We are, Miss Bingley. I must say you seem in excellent spirits."

"And why not, given the joy of the occasion?"  
>"Right you are."<p>

"This is a time for counting one's blessings, of which I have several, and cannot wait to share them with everyone."

"I look forward to it, Miss Bingley," he said in half-amusement over her jolly demeanor as he recalled her visage at the wedding perpetually suggesting the faint odor of cod in the air.

"Tell me, have you seen Mrs. Darcy?" She asked. "I've not had a chance to compliment her on the lovely decorations, or were those duties delegated to Mrs. Reynolds, I wonder?"

"I…I cannot tell you, Ma'am. I've only just arrived and am already at the beckon call of Mr. Darcy."

"Then I'll not keep you, Colonel." The woman was beaming as she made a deep curtsey. "Do enjoy the day and the Darcys' exquisite hospitality!"

"You, as well, Miss Bingley," Fitzwilliam said with another bow, then continued on his way and met another two of Darcy's guests, Mr. and Mrs. Hurst, whose respective countenances were far from Miss Bingley's, rather matching what they were at the wedding—not unkind, but certainly haughty. Richard paused and made another bow on the approaching of the couple.

"Mr. Hurst. Mrs. Hurst. A pleasure to see you again."

"Ah, Colonel Fitzwilliam," said Mr. Hurst as his wife managed a perfunctory smile. "I do hope you are up for some good hunting this week."

"Always, Mr. Hurst. Always." Fitzwilliam expected another lap of conversation, but the couple merely continued past him without breaking their pace. "Um, yes, well, see you later then," the colonel said to their backs, rather accustomed to such upper-class curtness without fully understanding it.

"Is that you, Richard?" Darcy's commanding voice came from his study a little up the way.

"Yes, and as always at your service, Darcy," the colonel called back, heading in that direction. Darcy was sitting at his desk, going over some paperwork.

"What, still at it?" Fitzwilliam took a seat. "I daresay you are worse than Matty."

"Bloody details," muttered Darcy. "Just when it seems I have things well in order, Thatcher brings me more to contend with."

"And what have I to contend with, sir? I assume it has to do with why I was made to come in full uniform?"

"I appreciate that, Richard, and, yes, there is a method to my madness." Darcy set the papers aside and gave the colonel his full attention. "Thus far, guests are arriving at the expected time. We anticipate the Bennets along with Mr. and Mrs. Bingley in a few hours. That leaves the only impending arrival leaving me uncertain and decidedly anxious—Lydia Wickham's."

Fitzwilliam's mood turned upon the mentioning of the girl's married name, his expression from carefree to serious in an instant. He listened as Darcy explained the letter Elizabeth had received from Lydia affirming that she would be reaching Pemberley on this day, but giving no indication as to the approximate hour of her arrival. This in and of itself was not uncommon or even a concern; however, Lydia Wickham—as Fitzwilliam, and most everyone in the family were well aware—was no ordinary guest. Though the colonel never considered himself an inherently violent man, ever since Wickham had attempted to abscond with Georgiana and her fortune when she was but fifteen and vulnerable as a lamb, Fitzwilliam had fantasized about making him his first casualty of a war separate from that with France.

"You believe _he_ will accompany her?" Fitzwilliam asked gravely.

"I do," answered Darcy. "In which case I have a plan, and I shall need your help."

As Darcy laid out his intentions should Wickham be so daft, Fitzwilliam could not help feeling a little disappointed, as it did not involve having the man shanghaied, beaten savagely, and left for dead. No, Darcy should much rather avoid such a messy conclusion, explaining that he had lookouts posted along the lane leading to Pemberley who would notify him immediately upon the sight of the Wickhams' carriage, the appearance of which Fitzwilliam deduced must have been described in detail by the master. This bit of intelligence stirred the colonel's curiosity, and as the two men stood to leave the room, he asked, "How is it that _you_ know what the carriage looks like?"

"Because I bought the blasted thing," said Darcy with no little antipathy. "So he shall _not_ find me unprepared if and when he decides to darken the premises. But for now, I must go down and at least try to be cordial while I wait for word. You are welcome to join me, of course."

"I shall not leave your side, Old Boy—not until this bit of business is over and done."

Chapter 19.

"Oh, girls! Hurry! Come and see what luxury your sister has acquired!"

Elizabeth sighed heavily upon the sight of her mother exiting the carriage with Mr. Bennet's assistance, followed by Mary and Kitty. As her mother crowed on about Mr. Darcy's considerable wealth as well as her daughter's fashionable and no doubt expensive new pelisse, Elizabeth dared not glance at her husband, who stood by her side solemnly and was no doubt revolted by Mrs. Bennet's behavior. Elizabeth instead concentrated on making sure her family was properly greeted and taken up to their respective rooms to get settled in. Georgiana was kind enough to volunteer to see to Mary and Kitty's comfort, which seemed to please the girls exceedingly, and Mrs. Reynolds personally escorted Elizabeth's mother and father to their quarters, which Mrs. Bennet saw as quite the treat. Close behind them came the Bingleys' carriage, and Elizabeth's energy suddenly revitalized after an exhausting week of preparation, for seeing dear Jane again especially had been well worth the effort. When Elizabeth saw Jane's gloved hand emerge from the window and wave enthusiastically at her, Elizabeth waved back with both hands just as she had as a child after "Janie" would come home from being away for even just a night or two. The carriage pulled to a stop and Elizabeth barely gave Mr. Bingley enough time to step out himself to assist his wife before she heartily embraced her sister.

"Oh, Lizzy! How I've missed you!" Jane said with tears in her eyes.

After several moments, Elizabeth pulled back, wiping away her own tears. "Goodness, look at us! We are being so silly!" She turned to Bingley. "Thank you so much for coming, Mr. Bingley, and for bringing my Jane back to me."

"Of course!" Bingley said in his usual gaiety. "My dear wife has been all-a-gog throughout our journey with the anticipation of seeing you, Mrs. Darcy." Not failing to notice Col. Fitzwilliam by Darcy's side, Bingley was quick to acknowledge him. "Colonel Fitzwilliam! Good afternoon, sir! I trust you are well."

The colonel smiled and bowed. "Very well, sir. I thank you."

"Did you have a safe journey, Bingley?" Darcy asked, shaking his friend's hand.

"Safe? Absolutely, though I confess I am a bit knackered."

With a pat on the back, Darcy said to Bingley, "Then let us get you in, shall we?"

Elizabeth, meanwhile, linked her arm with Jane's, leading her into the house. "Come, Jane, there is tea and refreshments in the parlor. Or would you prefer to see your room first?"

Jane laughed. "It is whatever you wish, dear sister. Are we the last to arrive?"

"Nearly. Lydia is unpredictable as usual, but the Hursts are here, as well as Miss Bingley—Oh, Jane!" Elizabeth suddenly halted, looked around, and began speaking in a furtive tone. "Speaking of Miss Bingley, I must ask you before we join them in the parlor—who on Earth is Lord Thornhaugh?" Upon Jane's nod of recognition, Elizabeth added, "For the last hour at least, it has been 'Thornhaugh' this and 'his lordship' that. Is it as true as it sounds in that the man has rid the world of all evils?"

The two ladies continued walking, but slowly. "Apparently Lord Thornhaugh _is_ Caroline's suitor, though we've yet to meet the gentleman" said Jane. "We both have received many letters from her singing his praises to the sky. Caroline says he is the eldest son of the Duke of Bedford—is clever, amiable, handsome—oh, and has a grand estate in Bedfordshire. They met in London, I think."

"I do not think I have ever seen a woman so smitten." Elizabeth arched an eyebrow. "I confess I am all astonishment."

"I think it is wonderful that Caroline has found love as we have. Surely you do not begrudge her?"

"Not at all! Indeed, her manner has improved considerably with only one or two subtle barbs in my direction. No, I assure you I prefer _this_ Caroline to the one six months—even six _weeks_ earlier. But is it not strange that such a match was made so quickly?"

"Perhaps it was love at first sight," Jane said with a smile. "Like Charles and I."

"But do you _really_ think that, Jane? It is easy to see why one would fall in love with _you_ in an instant…"  
>"Oh, Lizzy…"<p>

"But Caroline Bingley?"

Jane sighed. "Lizzy, it is Christmas—therefore, I refuse to allow you to be cynical. We are three ladies in love, which make us both rare and fortunate, and this is the time to celebrate that _without_ suspicion."

"You are right, Jane, as usual," said Elizabeth. "If it is as you say, then this gentleman will no doubt make her a better person, as happiness in life tends to eradicate one's proclivity for condescension." Elizabeth left it there, but could not help but think to herself, _unless of course she has found someone just as nasty as she._

***0/0***

_This was a mistake_, Darcy thought, for by the late afternoon, he had already had enough of his mother-in-law's unguarded prattling in regards to Pemberley's magnificence and her daughter's cleverness in securing a gentleman like Mr. Darcy. And it seemed when her voice was not heard, it was Caroline Bingley's in never failing to mention this Lord Thornhaugh chap whenever possible, reminding him as it did of Mr. Collins and his incessant lauding of Lady Catherine.

_Or Bingley after first meeting Jane Bennet. _

Perhaps it truly was a match, though Darcy could scarcely imagine _any_ gentleman of magnitude actually falling for Caroline Bingley given her cold, ungenerous nature mixed with a dogged ambition _he_ always found unattractive at best. He could fathom a certain _type_ of man courting her, of course—A rake, perhaps, or a fortune hunter; but Darcy was somewhat familiar with the Russell family, had even met Lord Bedford at an event several years ago, and understood the politician to be unquestionably reputable and his estate immense. His eldest son, however, he knew nothing about. Perhaps he would have a conversation with Bingley later to see what he knew of the gentleman; but for now, Darcy—and the rest of his guests—would simply endure Caroline's lovesick fawning over this beacon of perfection that is Lord Thornhaugh.

At a certain point, Darcy took a place in the parlor at the window in an attempt to make the useless conversation less perceptible with his own musings. He knew Elizabeth would not be happy with him and his habitual choice to drown out the world, but he had always found it profoundly difficult to pretend to be sociable where he was not, and therefore stood like a statue staring out at the park amidst the chatter of his company. He had not been in his current location long before Col. Fitzwilliam came to stand next to him and join him in the scrutinizing of Pemberley's parklands.

"Your wife is giving you the eye, Darcy," murmured the colonel.

"I do not doubt it," Darcy said just as cautiously, and with a heavy sigh asked, "Why did I agree to this, Richard?"

"Because you love her."

Darcy looked sharply at his cousin. "I was speaking of having everyone here."

"So was I," said Richard. Darcy resumed his eyes forward. "It is not all noise, Darce. Georgiana and Miss Mary are enveloped in conversation over sheet music. Your father-in-law is trying Mr. Hurst's patience with no little wit in explaining the advantages to reading over hunting. Your wife and Mrs. Bingley are happily discussing married life. And I daresay Miss Catherine seems to have taken quite a shine to Matty, already."

"Indeed?" Darcy asked with genuine interest.

The colonel nodded. "He is talking to her of Shakespeare. Not sure she fully _understands_ of what he's talking, but she is certainly captivated. You, of course, would know all of this, if you would participate in what is known as mixing socially with others. _Fraternizing_, if you will."

"I do not need a lecture, Richard."

"The very response I expected; however, I would like you think on one thing. Where were you a year ago?"

Darcy recalled his situation last December when he was in London, hiding away in his townhouse with only Mrs. Annesley and a despondent Georgiana to keep him company whilst he tried to convince himself he harbored no intimate feelings for Elizabeth Bennet and could _never_ condescend to court her. He remembered his long conversation with Bingley in which he—along with a conniving Caroline and Louisa—labored to persuade his miserable friend that Jane Bennet was not in love with him. By the time that visit was over, Bingley had looked how Darcy felt, and he could not help soon regretting what he had done, despite his conviction that it was all in the best interest of both men. Now Mr. and Mrs. Bingley were both smiling, Georgiana was jollier than she had ever been, and he himself was a thousand times more content than he was last winter.

"Your point is well taken, Cousin." Darcy turned his head to find his wife, who was sitting on the settee with Jane. As though sensing his eyes on her, she gave him an arch glance that reminded him of those days in Hertfordshire when he continuously wondered what was going through her lively mind, what form of mischief was behind those remarkable eyes. Darcy turned back to the window. "I will try. Though it may pain me to make the effort, I will try. I can offer no more than that."

"Of course not," said the colonel. It was not one minute later when Bridges with one of the young stablemen approached Darcy, careful not to attract attention.

"Mr. Darcy, sir," said Bridges, "they've spotted the carriage, and Mr. Wickham is within."

"Dear God, you were right," said Fitzwilliam to Darcy, who was all severity when he addressed the youth.

"Where is it exactly?"

"Up the lane about half a mile, sir."

"And it is stationary?"

"Sir?"

"_Stopped_, man," said the colonel.

"Yes, sir. They'll not go further without word."

"Thank you, Benny." The young man quickly left, and Darcy and Fitzwilliam exchanged firm glances before politely excusing themselves from the rest of the party, hopefully without arousing any suspicion. In near perfect alignment, the two gentleman marched outside together, where Mr. Armstead was waiting for them with two of Darcy's fastest horses.

"You owe me, Darcy," said Fitzwilliam as he mounted. "You know I should dearly love to throttle the bastard within an inch of his life."

"Perhaps in due course," said Darcy. "But today, let us focus on removing what little leverage he thinks he has."

"Never mind that what you are asking of me is wildly improper. Suppose I am unable to allure her."

Darcy gave a knowing smirk. "I am not at all concerned, Richard. Given the opportunity and inclination, I know you capable enough of charming _any_ woman."

The two men cued their respective steeds into a full gallop, racing side-by side up the lane toward the parked chaise in the distance. As they got closer, Darcy could see Wickham pacing back and forth in apparent frustration with three of Darcy's lookouts—all burly groundskeepers—surrounding the carriage.

"Ah, thank God, Darcy," said Wickham in good humor as Darcy and the colonel slowed their stallions to a halt a few yards in front of the carriage. "Could you please inform your men that we are here by invitation? For some reason, they seem to think we mean to rob the place."

Darcy knew immediately that Wickham was feigning outrage in front of his wife—who sat indignantly inside the carriage—with the expectation that Darcy would not dare make too much of a fuss in the presence of Elizabeth's sister. As he approached, Darcy sneered at Wickham's flashy wardrobe bought with funds provided by himself and creditors no doubt won over by his charisma yet ignorant of his reputation. But instead of approaching Wickham directly, Darcy turned toward the single gelding pulling the chaise and stroked its muzzle. This seemed to baffle Wickham, but before he could make any inquiries, Col. Fitzwilliam walked his horse over to the side of the carriage and peered inside.

"Mrs. Lydia Wickham, I presume?"

Lydia put her head out of the window to look up at the colonel smiling down on her from astride one of Darcy's prime hot-bloods. "Yes?" She answered, already taken in by Richard's dashing appearance in his regimentals.

With a bow, he said, "Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, at your service." He dismounted and reached out to take Lydia's hand, which she gave him without hesitation. He kissed her hand and held it. "Also Mr. Darcy's cousin and fellow guest here at Pemberley for the Christmas holiday. And I understand you are to honor us with your presence, as well?"

Darcy cracked a smile, but managed to hide his expression behind the horse's large head. Meanwhile, Wickham looked on in utter bewilderment.

"I am," said Lydia, entranced by the handsome redcoat. "I am Lizzy's—I am _Mrs. Darcy's_ youngest sister, though I married months before her and Jane."

"Of course you did," said Fitzwilliam, his smile never wavering. "I thought you might like a personal escort to the house while Darcy and Wickham see to their boring old business. Shall we?" The colonel gestured toward his horse; and Lydia was not lost on his suggestion, for the girl squealed with delight as she exited the carriage.

"Oh! So exciting! I have never ridden as passenger to an officer's rider before!"

"Lydia!" Wickham cried. "You mustn't, my dear! It is not…it is not safe for you to—"

"Oh, nonsense! You never like to have fun, anymore! I shall be perfectly well with Colonel Fitzwilliam at the helm. Shall I not, Colonel?"

Fitzwilliam re-mounted and reached down to help her so that she may settle herself behind him. "Indeed, you shall, Mrs. Wickham. I give you my word on that." The colonel paused just long enough to shoot a contemptuous glance in Wickham's direction, then promptly rode off with a gleeful Lydia holding firmly onto his waist. Darcy watched as they headed toward the house.

"There goes your bargaining chip, Wickham." Darcy turned and faced his adversary of many years, maintaining a comfortable distance so that he may not be tempted to box his ears. Wickham grew even more restless.

"Surely, Darcy, you are not turning me away—not after a three-day journey! You truly expect me to go straight back home to Newcastle?"

"No. I expect you to go straight to the Lambton Inn for the night. This horse needs water and rest. Were you not so bloody negligent, you would heed the fact that this carriage was built for _two_ horses. Tomorrow morning, I sincerely _recommend_ you set out for Newcastle directly. I shall see to Mrs. Wickham's return after the holiday. And on any subsequent visits to Pemberley, I shall see to her arrival, as well."

Darcy reached up to the hitherto confounded postilion still straddling the horse and handed him a gold sovereign, after which the man smiled and thanked him. Running low on methods, Wickham endeavored a bit more gallantry.

"You really expect me to leave without my wife?"

"You have no choice in the matter." Darcy started back toward his own mount. Wickham glanced at the broad-shouldered men eyeballing him as a warning from the roadside, and his tone turned desperate.

"She is an albatross around my neck, Darcy!"

"Of your own making," Darcy said calmly. "And you agreed to the terms of the negotiation."

"Under false pretenses! Had I known your objective was to secure Elizabeth Bennet, I'd have never—"

"You'd have driven a harder bargain, but the end result would have been _exactly_ the same, keeping you out of debtor's prison, keeping collectors from hunting you down like a woodcock."

With that, Darcy considered this pointless argument closed, but Wickham's belligerence meant to further test his limits would not give way. "Admit it, Darcy! You never even fancied her till the discovery that she preferred me over you, and now you've seen fit to shackle me to this insufferable chit as part of your revenge!"

Darcy shook his head, wondering how on Earth this fool ever managed to gain the favor of so many. "If that is the prism through which you view it, Wickham, I will not bother to argue, nor do I care to. Now leave these grounds, and do remember this time _never_ to return."

As Darcy said the last words, Fitzwilliam came riding up at top speed, but less one passenger. The colonel quickly dismounted, never taking his wrathful gaze off of Wickham, and proceeded to charge toward the man.

"Richard!" Darcy called out.

Wickham scarcely had time enough to stumble backward when Richard caught up to him and laid the man down with a right hook, causing Wickham to hit his head hard upon the pebbly road, rendering him unconscious. Fitzwilliam then pointed to the shocked postilion. "You there! Help me get him into the carriage! Quick, man!"

The frightened driver hesitated but a moment before dismounting and rushing over to where Wickham lay. The colonel hoisted Wickham up by his underarms as the postilion took his legs. Richard then glanced over at his cousin, who was watching in vexation at the scene before him. "Darcy, could you get the door please?"

Shaking his head, Darcy walked over and jerked open the door, wherein Fitzwilliam all but threw Wickham into the chaise and slammed the door shut as Darcy instructed the three groundskeepers to quickly unload all the baggage-but for the one trunk he knew to be Wickham's-and get them to the house for Mrs. Reynolds to manage. Catching his breath, Fitzwilliam reached into his pocket and gave the fatigued and addled driver half a crown.

"Thank you, sir," the man said in all gratitude, for he had made more money in the last five minutes than he probably had doing a month's work. Darcy repeated his order to get the carriage to Lambton at once.

"Certainly gave you quite the show today, didn't we?" said Fitzwilliam. The smiling postilion tipped his hat at the gentlemen and proceeded to follow the orders given to him as Darcy and Fitzwilliam strode back toward their horses.

"You may have concussed the man," said Darcy.

"Then it is to be a merry Christmas, indeed," said the colonel flippantly.

Later that night, when Darcy finally retired well after all the guests had, he slipped into Elizabeth's room to find her already fast asleep as opposed to her usual lying awake in bed—usually curled up with a book—waiting for him. As he slipped under the covers, he realized how exhausted she must be after all her weeks' worth of efforts to see that both she _and_ he have a joyful Christmas holiday. For Elizabeth, it meant surrounding herself with loved ones, and Darcy simply _had_ to find a way to overcome his disdain for crowded affairs. Elizabeth would both be seen at and hosting balls soon, and he would have to be the gentleman on her arm who was eager to—not keep her under glass—but display her proudly. He thought for a moment of going back to his room to sleep, but ultimately decided against it. Once again, he was already in a comfortable bed and was certainly tired himself after the day's events. Why give the servants more linens to tend to in the morning? He had just closed his eyes when Elizabeth rolled over and cuddled up close to him.

"Oh, Mama!" Elizabeth moaned reproachfully in her sleep—for even in her dreams, Mrs. Bennet gave her daughter no end of embarrassment. Darcy put his arm around her and held her even closer, breathing in the scent of her hair.

"I will try, my darling," murmured Darcy. "I will try."


	12. Part 11

The bleeding began that morning, and until noon Charlotte had been in a state that could only be described as denial. She had not been down to breakfast, had hardly left her room since she awoke at daybreak to a sharp pain in her abdomen and spots of crimson on her bed sheets. Through it all, however, Charlotte had remained calm, spending most of her time between the bed and the water closet, more than once through the bedroom door telling their concerned maid, Mrs. Hathaway, that all was well, that she was only feeling a bit fatigued and was _not_ in need her assistance. This was an explanation Mrs. Hathaway could accept, as well as Mr. Collins, for Charlotte had been exceedingly tired over the last week or so, a symptom she understood to be quite common in pregnancy. By half-past noon, Charlotte, too weak to even leave her bed, finally decided to ring for Mrs. Hathaway, to which the middle-aged woman responded quickly.

"Yes, Mrs. Collins?"

"Where is Mr. Collins?"

"He's outside, M'um, chasing down the pig what got out again."

"Good."

Charlotte and Mrs. Hathaway had always shared a mutual respect, had indeed been one another's constant companion since the day Charlotte claimed her new home in Kent and the widow Hathaway moved from the kitchen at Rosings to the Hunsford parsonage as a maid of all work, a situation the woman found far more agreeable than the high maintenance and often unreasonable demands of her ladyship. As Charlotte found little in the way of conversation with her husband and entertained few visitors outside of his patroness, the two women had shared many pleasant moments together in the kitchen with Charlotte sipping her tea at the table whilst Mrs. Hathaway prepared the evening's meal. If ever inquired, Charlotte could easily admit that the woman was more a friend to her than a servant; and right now, Mrs. Hathaway was both looking at and addressing Charlotte as the former, stepping into the bedroom in evident alarm over her pale appearance.

"Are ye not well, M'um?"

"I need Dr. Thompson fetched at once, Mrs. Hathaway."

The woman began wringing her hands together and nearly cried out after noticing marks of redness on Charlotte's nightgown. She covered her mouth with a trembling hand.

"Oh, Mrs. Collins! I…I am so sorry—"

"_Please!"_ Now was _not_ the time to start weeping and mourning, for Charlotte had wasted enough time in pretending the situation was not as dire as it suggested. She repeated in a softer tone upon the appearance of tears in her maid's eyes, "Please, Mrs. Hathaway, send for Dr. Thompson. Young Phillip should be in the garden. He's a fast runner. Have him make haste."

Mrs. Hathaway nodded and promptly quit the room. Charlotte remained still in bed, thinking very hard on what could have caused this, for she had always had an aptitude for finding the logic in most _any_ situation. She had taken good care of herself, had eaten hearty meals and done nothing strenuous as Dr. Thompson had instructed. So far, it was not making sense at all. Certainly it was not God's doing, for why would He be so cruel? Charlotte then thought on her husband's various sermons and of scripture, particularly The Book of Job, wherein God and Lucifer set forth to test the devotion of a good and righteous man. Was God removing his protection of Charlotte and allowing the devil to take away the one true blessing in her life? Or had she truly disappointed Him? Was she not a dutiful wife to Mr. Collins? Had she not kept a good home? Never once had Mr. Collins made a whiff of complaint in regards to her role as a wife. Surely…_surely_ it had nothing to do with her resolve to attend Lizzy's wedding despite her husband's objections. No, that would be ridiculous. Could it have been her occasional unkind thoughts about Lady Catherine, about Anne one day inheriting Rosings and her ladyship no longer an encumbrance? Charlotte shook her head. _No, no, no! I am not being punished. I am not being tested. But there is a reason for this, though I may never comprehend it. _There were far too many wicked men in the world who managed to thrive, far too many British soldiers brought down by the likes of that awful Bonaparte, for God to take Charlotte to task over a few less-than-generous thoughts. She simply suffered an infirmity many others suffered, that of having a weak vessel, which was merely a medical abnormality, not a message from the heavens. When Dr. Thompson arrived and woefully confirmed what her body had been trying to tell her all morning, Charlotte thanked the gentleman with the kind of composure a man in his field was likely not accustomed to observing after delivering such a prognosis, and asked him to inform Mr. Collins of the news.

"Perhaps it would also be best that I not attend Christmas dinner at Rosings tomorrow evening," said Charlotte somewhat hazily.

Dr. Thompson said compassionately, but firmly, "Mrs. Collins, you are to not leave your _bed_, much less your home, for the next week at least. If your cramping does not subside by then, you must inform me at once. And Mrs. Collins…Mrs. Collins?"

Charlotte focused her eyes on the doctor's, her thoughts like a tempest in her head, and she only caught some of what he said, something about a woman's body having the ability to recover quite rapidly after such an ordeal and that she must not give up hope of one day bearing a perfectly healthy child. Charlotte nodded as though she had understood every word, and the doctor reticently took his leave with the order that she eat something. Mrs. Hathaway took it upon herself to inform Charlotte that she would prepare a hot bath, to which Charlotte finally snapped out of her stupor with the request that she not be disturbed by _anyone_ for the rest of the afternoon if it could possibly be helped. No doubt Mr. Collins would be disappointed by this unfortunate development, but would have no idea how to express any sorrow he himself may feel, much less empathy for his wife. Most likely he would either leave her alone entirely for the next few days or would make an attempt to "comfort" her in the only way he knew how—by proselytizing. Sure enough, while Charlotte bathed, she heard Mr. Collins's voice just outside the door despite her entreaty, reading from what sounded like the Book of Lamentations. She tried to tune him out, feeling certain she may shout the house down if she were to ultimately hear how Lady Catherine may feel about all of this. Miraculously, her ladyship's name was never mentioned at the finale of her husband's sermon, but he did convey to her—most inarticulately—that he would keep to tomorrow's dinner plans under the burden of obligation, but was uncertain if he would tell Lady Catherine right away of their recent misfortune.

_Go! Just go!_ Charlotte thought as he rattled on about the pros and cons of relating everything that occurred on this day. Finally and thankfully, she could hear his voice no longer, and left the bath with Mrs. Hathaway's help in order to prepare herself for bed. After donning a fresh nightgown, Charlotte ate a bit of the hot soup her maid had prepared while the woman brushed her hair and helped her with her nightcap. Charlotte then slipped under the covers, sheltering all but her head.

Mrs. Hathaway seemed reluctant at that point to simply leave the room with a curtsey, and instead said in a voice full of emotion, "You _will_ have a child, M'um. Of that I am certain. And you will be as fine a mother as there ever was." The woman then took her leave, closing the door behind her. Those words made Charlotte think back on Lizzy's wedding day, when she joyfully informed the new and equally thrilled Mrs. Darcy of her pregnancy.

_You will be a wonderful mother, _Lizzy had said._ You have entirely too much love to give not to be. _

Tears that even Charlotte was unaware she possessed began to pool in her eyes. Yes, she knew that she would indeed be a wonderful mother. Some day.

-00-

"Bravo, Mr. Hurst! Excellent shot!" Bingley cried after the man fired a round with his double-barrel that took down two of the six pheasants that flew out of the brush. Though it was bitterly cold, Darcy had looked forward to this hunting jaunt, as he had not participated in the sport since last year, having neglected to go on any excursions as planned at the beginning of the season in August so that he may instead court Elizabeth. Now that things were well in order, he was happy to once again join his fellow gentlemen and friends in a form of recreation he particularly enjoyed—next to fencing, of course. When it came to shooting, Darcy knew his skills matched Bingley's at least, but fell far behind Mr. Hurst and Col. Fitzwilliam, who had already bagged more than a dozen birds respectively after only a few hours. Darcy and Bingley, meanwhile, had only bagged ten or so between the two of them, a situation Mr. Hurst would always blame on the beaters not doing their due diligence if he ever returned with a sparse count; but for Darcy it wasn't just about the bloody birds. He actually enjoyed the comradery during these outings that sometimes lasted until well into the afternoon as he imagined Bingley did, as well. Before long, Bingley and Darcy were—in both bird count and footsteps—trailing far behind Hurst and Fitzwilliam, who were more focused on out-bagging one another than enjoying good conversation.

"So how is married life treating _you_, Darcy?" Bingley finally asked as the two men made their way through the fields, their loaders in close proximity.

"Quite well," Darcy answered, knowing that Bingley understood he was the type of man to answer with the condensed version to such questions. Darcy then obliged his friend with the query he suspected was wanted of him. "And yourself?"

"Ah, she is such an angel, Darce! I truly believe my life started the day I married her—the day I _met_ her, I daresay!"

Darcy smiled slightly, ever in awe of Bingley's ability to speak aloud all that he felt in his heart, though there were other matters on the subject that genuinely aroused Darcy's curiosity.

"And are you happily rooted in Hertfordshire? Will you 'pull the trigger,' so to speak, on the purchasing of Netherfield as a permanent residence?"

Bingley hesitated many moments before answering, something Darcy truly did not expect. "We shall be content with one another, I believe, no matter where we finally settle."

Darcy looked at his friend in bewilderment. "A curiously cryptic answer, Bingley," he said, then in all good humor added, "Perhaps you misunderstood the question."

"I understood the question," said Bingley with a sigh. "The truth is, while the place is certainly comfortable enough, and you know how much I enjoy the country society, I cannot…that is, I am not sure that I see Jane and I—and any subsequent children, of course—remaining there on a _permanent_ basis."

"Really?" Darcy glanced over at the loaders several yards away to make sure they were engaged in their own private discourse before once again addressing his friend. "If anything is troubling you, Bingley, you know you can count on my discretion. Are you not happy?"

"Of course I am happy, Darce. That is, I am happy with _Jane_." Bingley shook his head. "God, I feel like a right selfish prig for even mentioning this. No man is more fortunate than I."

Darcy urged Bingley to continue, making it clear that if anyone understood what it meant to be a selfish prig, it was he, and therefore _he_ should be the one to decide if Bingley could make a claim on that title. Again, Darcy's lighthearted manner tempered Bingley's uneasiness in making his confession. Hence, he continued.

"It is Mrs. Bennet, Darcy. She is not a vicious woman, of course, nor does she…does she _think_ she is doing any harm, but she has been a constant…_visitor_…since the week after we recited our vows. Truth be known, Jane and I have scarcely been alone for more than a few daylight hours in the last month!"

"I see," said Darcy with genuine understanding and empathy, for the situation apparently _was_ as he had estimated, only worse. "And does Jane agree?"

"We have not discussed it."

"But you can sense how this affects her, can you not?"

"Jane can be very difficult to read, as you well know. And she cares more about the comfort of others than her own. I fear it is an affliction from which we both suffer."

"It is an affliction, indeed. Though it need not be a terminal one. There _is_ room for self-interest."

"I hate the very idea of upsetting her. I do not want her to think I am cross, or that I wish to detach her from her family, who I believe she feels still _needs_ her. How do I even broach the subject?"

"By putting a positive spin on it, of course. That you should like to not _remove_ yourself from the Bennets, but rather bring Jane _closer_ to her beloved sister."

"You are suggesting that I should find a home in Derbyshire?"

Darcy immediately wanted to answer in the affirmative, but stopped just short of doing so with a pervading realization. "I am sorry, Bingley. I must confess it is _I_ who am the selfish prig in this scenario in my attempt to sway you in a certain direction, because I know how much Elizabeth should dearly wish to have Jane near as possible. But I will not try to influence you. You will do what is best for your family without any help from me."

Bingley looked a little disappointed, but recovered quickly. "Fair enough, Darcy. I have much to think about. Especially now that Caroline has set her cap at this Thornhaugh fellow and may very well be married this time next week at the rate this courtship is progressing, I have little else to consider."

Bingley's last statement triggered Darcy's interest in the mysterious marquess. Hoping to elicit a bit of information, he said, "Yes, your sister is clearly quite taken with the gentleman."

"Indeed, she is. As he will apparently remain in town through the season, Caroline has asked myself and Jane to go from here directly to London in order to make his acquaintance."

"Capital idea, Bingley! And a grand opportunity to gain knowledge of the man's character and true intentions toward Caroline."

There was a pregnant pause before Bingley asked, "What do you mean, 'true intentions'? Do you think something is amiss?"

"Gentlemen!" Mr. Hurst called out as he and Col. Fitzwilliam approached with respective guns tucked in a safety position under the right arm. "The colonel and I were just wondering if you might be joining us for a bit of shooting, today."

Ignoring Hurst, Darcy continued his conversation with Bingley. "Not necessarily. I only know that if it were my own sister—whatever her age—I should learn everything possible about any one of her suitors."

"Ah, it appears, Mr. Hurst, that we have interrupted Darcy and Bingley's stitching circle."

"You speak of Thornhaugh?" Hurst inquired.

Bingley nodded. "It appears Darcy inherently mistrusts the gentleman."

"I never said that!"

"But you doubt his intentions?"

"You put words in my mouth, Charles."

"Quite frankly, I have my own doubts, Bingley," said Hurst, typically far less concerned with giving offense in his impatience to resume the hunt. "I see no reason why a man so high in in the Haut Monde should favor your sister, much less court her with the sort of eagerness Caroline proclaims."

"Not everyone sets out to make a match of distinction, Hurst," said a discernibly affronted Bingley.

"Perhaps not," Hurst allowed, "but Caroline has made no bones—certainly not in _our_ household—about her ardent desire to raise her station, which makes her potential prey to any loose screws out there who just happen to hold a title she covets."

As taken aback as Darcy was by Hurst's brashness, he could not help but agree with the man's sentiments and was actually thankful to have it not come from his own lips lest he further grieve his now visibly nervous friend. Bingley looked from one gentleman to the other, finally settling his eyes on Col. Fitzwilliam.

"What say you, Colonel?"

Fitzwilliam hesitated before answering, "I do not know Miss Bingley well, sir. But I do know of what Mr. Hurst speaks, having grown up and mingled with my fair share of bounders within the fashionable elite."

Bingley turned and walked away a few steps in both agitation and introspection while the other three men stood by in awkward silence. Finally, Bingley said, "In her letters, Caroline says a great deal of _what_ this man is, but not _who_, never who. She has always been deeply flawed in that regard." Bingley then turned to Darcy, a little more hopeful. "But she does go on and on about his amiability, his good humor, his kindness of manner…"

Darcy gazed squarely at his friend. "There are far too many, Bingley, who have been taken in by an easily-feigned, congenial countenance only to be sorely deceived in the end. I believe it is the task of true gentlemen to expose such creatures." Darcy was then quick to add, "Not that Thornhaugh is one of them, mind you, but…"

"I understand," said Bingley in earnest. "I thank you, gentlemen, for your counsel. And I shall act accordingly with regards to my sister."

"Excellent!" cried Hurst in relief. "Now may we continue doing as _men_ do and bag a few more pheasants? Though I enjoy besting the three of you, I do require _some_ competition."

"By the day's end, Hurst, I'll have out-bagged you by a ten-to-one ratio!" Fitzwilliam called out as Hurst as he headed further into the fields, then to Darcy and Bingley added, "I fear the man's math is worse than his breath."

Darcy and Bingley could not help but laugh at Fitzwilliam's sharp quip as they all recommenced their pursuit of fowl in the thick brush.


	13. Part 12

Chapter 22

"Why do you say such things, Mary? I think you play very well, indeed." Georgiana gathered the sheets of music in order to put them away as Mary Bennet rose from the pianoforte after a performance with which she was clearly unsatisfied.

"I do not require false praise, Miss Darcy," said Mary, trying to hide her self-deprecation under a mask of formality, a practice Georgiana well recognized. "I know my talents are sorely lacking in comparison to yours."

Georgiana was all concern as the two ladies left the music room together and took a walk through Pemberley's expansive first floor. "I do not play to refine my talents," said Georgiana, "nor to best anyone else who seek to refine their own. I seek not to reach a certain level of ability, nor have I ever done so! I play purely for my own enjoyment and for love of music."

Mary was quiet for so long that Georgiana was worried she had offended her in some way and very nearly apologized for no discernable reason when, before she could do so, Mary finally spoke.

"I do not play for love of music."

Georgiana was all astonishment, for music brought her so much pleasure, so much joy—indeed called to mind such wonderful memories of her mother that she feared may fade should she ever give up the instrument—that Mary's remark was near incomprehensible. "I can scarcely imagine putting so much practice into an art for which I had no passion," she said. "Please forgive my prying, Mary, but…why _do_ you play?"

Again, more silence. _She is so much like William in this regard_, thought Georgiana with the firm belief that she may never understand the behavior of perpetually hiding one's true feelings from the world.

"You would not understand, I am afraid," Mary finally said tentatively. "You have grown up far different than I. You have always been the center of attention, constantly waited upon by those in servitude, innately accepted by your family and heartily doted on, as well. You want for nothing."

_Nothing? _Now it was Georgiana's turn to be offended, for she could not stand it any longer, this notion that growing up in privilege was among the highest on the barometric scale of one's well-being. "Do you believe a six-year-old girl who loses a mother she loved to illness wants for nothing? Do you believe growing up under the constant surveillance of nannies, governesses, hired companions, and—much sooner than is welcome—all of Society, wants for nothing? Do you believe a young lady who lives in a bubble of protection, but for need of a friend may be ripe for treachery by those who claim to care for her, wants for nothing?" When Mary only answered with the slight hanging of her head, Georgiana continued. "We are no different, you and I, Mary. We even employ the same method of manifesting our yearnings, but for vastly different reasons. I understand far more than you presume."

"Stop it, Lydia!"

Georgiana and Mary halted upon Kitty's frustrated voice coming from the library, then sought out to discover what sent her into such a frenzy. The two ladies strode into the library to see Kitty grabbing a book from Lydia's hand.

"What, have you become Mary, now?" Lydia teased. "Since when are you interested in books at all, far less that gibberish?"

"It is _not_ gibberish! Just because _you_ fail to understand Shakespeare—"

"And what on Earth use should _you_ have for _Romeo and Juliet_?"

"None of your business, that is what!"

"Perhaps to impress a certain gentleman, hmmm?"

"Lydia!" Mary exclaimed in a tone of authority. Georgiana stood by in silence as she witnessed an apparent sisterly dispute unfolding before her eyes.

"Ugh!" Lydia cried out in exasperation. "This household is so desperately dull! Would that my dear Wickham could have stayed instead of running back off to Newcastle on business." She plopped down into a chair as though weighed down by her ennui. "He actually thought I would have more fun here for the holiday, but he could not have been more wrong, I assure you."

"Then go back to Newcastle and join your _dear Wickham_ directly," Mary firmly decreed.

"Furthermore," said Lydia, completely ignoring Mary, "why go after a bookish bloke like Matthew Fitzwilliam when you have a dashing soldier like the colonel under the same roof? He is unmarried, too, you know—and far more charismatic!"

"I am _going after_ no one," replied Kitty emphatically. Georgiana, meanwhile, was growing more and more uneasy by the moment, a discomfort only further exacerbated by the sudden appearance of Elizabeth, Jane _and_ Mr. Bennet at the entrance, no doubt drawn in by the clamor of Lydia's whining and Mary's scolding. Georgiana remained still if only to see what form of unpleasantness should next transpire.

Thus far not noticing the presence of her father and older sisters, Mary pointed a condemning finger at Lydia. "You really expect Kitty to follow in _your_ footsteps? _You_, who have brought nothing but shame upon this family with your damnable behavior that nearly sent us _all_ to ruin?"

Lydia sighed with pity. "You shall never understand the passion of true love as I do, Mary. As though for you, I daresay, there shall _ever_ be a prospect to be had!"

"That is quite enough," said Mr. Bennet as he stepped fully into the room. "I wish at once to speak to all three of you girls. Please sit there."

Mr. Bennet pointed to the settee in the middle of the room. Lydia and Mary grudgingly obeyed, sitting on opposite ends, while Kitty remained standing firm with an injured look on her face.

"But _I_ have done nothing, Papa," said Kitty.

"I believe you, child," said Mr. Bennet. "Nonetheless, I should like you to hear what I have to say."

Kitty hesitantly joined her sisters and sat squarely in the middle, clutching her book with both hands. Georgiana rushed to Elizabeth and Jane's side, who both assured her with their eyes that the situation was not as dire as it seemed. Mr. Bennet stood directly in front of his three younger daughters.

"I shall preface this by saying I have already had this conversation with your mother, who is currently preparing her toilette for the occasion with the promise that she will park her inanity and her _nerves_ at our chamber door. For tonight, my dear daughters, we are having Christmas dinner in this magnificent home with not only our well in-laid in-laws, but also two distinguished members of the Aristocracy—the Earl and Countess of Matlock." Upon Lydia's scoff, Mr. Bennet glared at his youngest. "And unless you are prepared to have dinner tonight in the stable block with the rest of the horses' arses, I highly suggest you _all_ heed my counsel with regards to this evening."

With a start, Lydia submitted to her father's severe tone, and Georgiana wondered if it might be the first time Mr. Bennet used such language when addressing his children. The man turned around just long enough to wink at Elizabeth and Jane, then turned back around to the three young ladies before him.

"While I freely admit I should have been a better father to you girls—tonight, you shall behave in a respectable manner in spite of your unfortunate upbringing."

"What do you mean, Papa?" Mary inquired. "Truly the only indecorous among us is Lydia, whilst Kitty has shown steady signs of improvement since her iniquitous playmate has thankfully flown the nest." Lydia stuck her tongue out at Mary, who then proselytized, "That we should _all_ live honestly, quietly, and comfortably together, it is needful that we should live under a sense of God's will, and in awe of the divine power, hoping to please God, and fearing to offend Him, by their behavior respectively."

Mr. Bennet took a step toward Mary and, with a smirk, said, "_That_ is what I mean, my dear girl. And I thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for the demonstration of the kind of thing that will _not_ be transpiring this evening at the Darcys' dining table. For there shall be _no_ sermonizing, as well as no flirting. No giggling. No talk of balls, dancing, officers, or the incomparable wisdom of Forsyth—"

"And no fun at all, I daresay!" Lydia huffed.

"None whatever," concurred Mr. Bennet. "Though your days of silliness within the confines of your own households shall doubtlessly continue until the three of you finally mature into bona fide ladies— God willing—on _this_ evening, you shall be still, with less _talking_ and more _listening_. And whatever your respective instincts may be in regards to how you conduct yourselves around good company, I strongly advise you behave the _opposite_ of said instincts. Do I make myself clear?"

All three girls murmured a grudging assent to Mr. Bennet's request, if only to put an end to their father's shaming of them. Mr. Bennet was not lost on their wounded responses. His sigh hinted slightly of an apology for his harshness toward them, however unwavering his overall position was on the subject.

"I love you girls." He turned a glance once again on Elizabeth and Jane. "_All_ of you. I simply wish to correct the wrong I've done you in even the smallest way possible. I wish for you to enjoy your future lives the way I believe Lizzy and Jane shall enjoy theirs, and keep the future potential for disaster to a bare minimum. I only hope I am not too late."

While Mary and Lydia merely looked away with an abject stubbornness, Kitty finally said in apparent self-awareness, "Yes, Papa." Georgiana had not conversed much with Kitty Bennet, as Mary was the sister with whom she appeared to share a common interest; but observing Kitty's behavior over just the past few days—far different than what she'd witnessed at the wedding—indicated to Georgiana the sort of yearning she had discussed with Mary but a few minutes earlier. Elizabeth had informed Georgiana that—before Lydia's trip to Brighton last summer and subsequent quitting of Hertfordshire altogether—Kitty and Lydia were a practically inseparable pair, with Lydia as the dominant female leading her _older_ sister by the nose and down a path perhaps not in her best interest. Now that she was on her own but for Mary's companionship that tended more toward scrutiny than viable company, Kitty Bennet was—as Georgiana saw it—a lost soul eager to find her place in the world.

Mr. Bennet, apparently satisfied that his speech had achieved its purpose—finally excused himself from the room, and the three sisters rose from the settee. Mary and Lydia proceeded to go their separate ways, while Kitty remained behind and sheepishly approached Elizabeth with a suppliant countenance.

"Lizzy?"

As though understanding fully Kitty's meaning behind her one-word plea, Elizabeth smiled generously at her younger sister. "I shall make the arrangements, Kitty. As long as you promise to heed our father's words."

"Oh, thank you, Lizzy! I do promise!" Embracing her copy of The Bard's tragic romance, Kitty left the room in much higher spirits.

"I agree with your decision, Lizzy," said Jane with a smile both kind and radiant. "And I agree with Mary that Kitty _has_ shown much improvement."

"What decision?" Georgiana asked.

Elizabeth replied, "Kitty expressed earlier her wish to be seated near your cousin, the young Mr. Fitzwilliam."

"I see," replied Georgiana as the three of them began walking together. "Do you think Matty has feelings for her, as well?" A thrilling thought suddenly dawned on her. "Shall I ask him?"

"Oh, certainly not, Georgie," said Elizabeth gently with Jane in full agreement. "Tempting as it may be to get involved."

"But Lizzy," wondered Georgiana, "Are _you_ not getting involved by seating them together?"

"Indeed not!" Elizabeth asserted. "I am merely affording my sister the opportunity to have good conversation as I would any other guest. The rest in _her_ hands."

Georgiana nodded, admiring her sister-in-law's cleverness.

"It is difficult to tell if Mr. Fitzwilliam really _likes_ Kitty or is simply flattered by her evident interest in what interests _him_," said Jane. "Just as it is equally hard to tell if Kitty's newfound pursuits are indeed genuine—"

"Rather than merely a display of her regard for the gentleman," Elizabeth finished.

Georgiana listened with eager interest, for she had never before been a party to such a conversation as this and was thoroughly enjoying it.

"Oh, I should like to think she sincerely seeks to expand her mind, Lizzy," said Jane. "Do you really think there might be a true connection?"

"If so," said Elizabeth thoughtfully, "a romance between the two _would_ be a challenge, I daresay—what with the end of the holiday that shall soon separate them. Although Cambridge _is_ an easy distance from Hertfordshire—less than forty miles. But there is, of course, Matthew's studies to consider that shall keep him far too busy for a proper courtship—if, in fact, that is even what Mr. Fitzwilliam wants." To Georgiana's surprise, Elizabeth glanced at her and asked, "What do you think, Georgie?"

Georgiana felt privileged to be asked her opinion on the matter, and therefore thought carefully before answering. "At the moment, I believe them too young to really know their own heart," she said. "But…but I hope after they part ways they shall write one another. If there is a true connection, their correspondence shall continue until the day they meet once again. And then…?"

Georgiana shrugged timidly, and both Jane and Elizabeth smiled at her in response. "I believe that to be a most astute observation, Miss Darcy," said Jane. As the ladies continued walking together, Georgiana could scarcely contain her joy and gratitude at attaining such caring and wonderful sisters.

"Incidentally, Lizzy," said Jane just before they were about to go off to their separate chambers in order to change for tonight's dinner, "How on Earth did Papa actually get through to Mama, I wonder?"

Elizabeth bit her lip to keep from laughing. "By cautioning her of the Earl and Countess of Matlock's severe and disapproving nature strikingly similar to another of Mr. Darcy's relations with whom our mother has already made the honored acquaintance—the noble Lady Catherine DeBourgh." Elizabeth then added archly, "For it is a fact well known within the Darcy and Fitzwilliam family that Aunt Catherine is as docile as a kitten by comparison."

Georgiana's eyes widened at the very notion of such a ruse, but Elizabeth reassured her that the bald-faced deception on the part of Mr. Bennet—whatever the reason—was most crucial.


	14. Part 13

-00-

**DISCLAIMER**

The following contains some mature content that I still feel only warrants the T rating, but may be considered a bit too graphic for some readers.

-00-

"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Darcy. I merely require confirmation that I heard you wrong," Caroline Bingley interjected after apparently overhearing Elizabeth's conversation with Jane at the far end of the dining table. "You did not name your horse '_Jane'_—not _really_?"

"Only for now, Miss Bingley," said Elizabeth with as much politeness as she could muster.

"I think 'Jane' is a perfectly agreeable name, indeed, Mrs. Darcy," said Mr. Bingley smilingly. "You do my wife credit by naming such a magnificent and docile creature after my own Aphrodite."

Jane blushed from the compliment, while Miss Bingley simply turned her nose up at what she thought was a most absurd and bizarre decision by the mistress of Pemberley. Apart from such remarks made sporadically by Miss Bingley in her typical fashion, Elizabeth felt Christmas dinner was going extremely well, thus far. She had decided to wear one of her new, wine-colored evening gowns made by Madame Chantal along with the pearls given to her by William on their wedding night. Adamantly refusing feathers of any kind despite the mantua-maker's persistence, Elizabeth instead had Anna adorn her braided, Roman-style coiffure with three small, white flowers to contrast with the dark ringlets framing her face and trailing down her neck. Darcy was visibly pleased when she stepped out of her bedroom to have him escort her downstairs, gently wrapping his finger around one of her curls as he gazed upon her.

"Did I not warn you to behave yourself, Mr. Darcy?" said Elizabeth, returning his leer.

"You shall know bad behavior before the night is done, Mrs. Darcy," her husband replied in a tone that sent shivers down her spine. Lord and Lady Matlock arrived as promised, and Elizabeth noted how much her mother struggled—however successfully—to harness her nerves around such frightening company. Even Lydia was behaving remarkably well, despite her evident boredom. Mary was characteristically quiet and kept mostly to herself. And Kitty, having wisely kept away from her younger sister throughout the evening, engaged in actual, suitable conversation with both Georgiana and Matthew once seated at dinner. Elizabeth invited her father to sit near Kitty so that he may observe her behavior as well as Matthew's, for she knew it would be difficult to convince Mr. Bennet to allow a correspondence between them after their departure from Pemberley, recovering as he still was from Lydia's elopement. Fortunately, Matthew's intellect and passion for the written word had already gained Mr. Bennet's favor from near his arrival, and thus far he did not seem to mind the young man conversing with his clearly besotted, yet well-behaved young daughter. Despite being situated next to her brother and across from Mrs. Hurst, Caroline ended up far too close to Mrs. Bennet, Mary and Lydia for her comfort, and, unsurprisingly, built an invisible wall around herself to keep from engaging in virtually any form of discourse with them. Elizabeth had noted Miss Bingley's sneer after dinner was announced when, as the ladies were being seated, Lady Matlock was entreated upon by Elizabeth to take the seat beside her, rather than the customary position next to Darcy. Her ladyship clearly thought this very odd, but quietly did as was requested. When the gentlemen entered, Elizabeth asked Lord Matlock to sit on her husband's end of the table, between his nephew and Col. Fitzwilliam. This singular arrangement, of course, was planned well in advance. When he learned of it, Darcy cautioned Elizabeth about his aunt and uncle's firm adherence to correctness at even a family dinner, but Elizabeth would have none of it.

"It is a patent impertinence, Elizabeth. You realize they will find your suggestions ill-bred at best," said Darcy, marking his own discomposure.

"It is Christmas, William! I want the occasion to be merry and the conversation lively, not stoic and proper," said Elizabeth resolutely. "Though the earl and countess may choose to be so if they wish." Upon his still-doubtful look, she added, "If I am able, why not provide optimal opportunity for jolly banter? Quite frankly, I think his lordship should rather converse with his dinner napkin than myself, whereas your aunt and I have become quite good friends."

"Then would you not do well in following your own advice and _practice_ in making dinner conversation with the earl?"

Elizabeth took in this salient point, but then was decided. "There is a lifetime for that, William. I have no doubt your uncle and I _will_ become friends. But tonight I want _all_ of my guests as amiable as possible; and in spite of what society commands, I believe your uncle would truly _prefer_ to be closest to you and Richard and her ladyship near myself. Scandalous as the very notion may be!"

Indeed, Lord Matlock very nearly objected out loud to—as the gentleman of honor—being seated beside Darcy, which prompted Elizabeth to say quickly, "I pray you indulge me, your lordship, for just this one evening—for this is a most informal dinner, and I invite you—in the spirit of generosity—to sit beside the gentlemen in our party most capable of both vexing and delighting you." The earl softened a bit, but still hesitated. "Should the situation prove to be a complete disaster," added Elizabeth, "you have my full leave to thoroughly reprimand me upon your departure and to spread the word accordingly."

"I shall take you up on that wager, Mrs. Darcy," said Lord Matlock grudgingly as he took the seat beside Darcy offered to him by the footman, though Elizabeth was certain she detected a hint of amusement in his response. She glanced at Lady Matlock sitting beside her, who seemed to be in awe of her willingness to cast aside well understood social standards. Lady Matlock leaned in toward Elizabeth and said secretively, "Choices such as this, Mrs. Darcy, would give London much to read about in the _Ladies Monthly Museum_."

"I see no reason why anyone should be either entertained or outraged by a mere seating arrangement, Aunt Alexandra," said Elizabeth wearily. "If so, activity in town must be decidedly scant, indeed." Upon the critical look in Lady Matlock's eyes, Elizabeth said, "I assure you it is _not_ my intention to cause a stir, your ladyship; but I _must_ behave as my own nature dictates, though it is not without the mindfulness of my environment. However, I should not blame you if you wish to call off any future balls planned in my honor."

"Nonsense, my dear," said Lady Matlock. "In fact, I wish to speak to both you _and_ Georgiana in private after dinner."

"Of course," said Elizabeth, rather surprised at the mentioning of Georgiana with regards to the matter. In terms of the seating, Elizabeth's abject stubbornness ultimately prevailed, for well into the meal the table was full of the kind of energy—from the Fitzwillams' noble side, no less!—that Elizabeth had always believed should exist in even a grand home such as the one of which she was mistress.

"Incidentally, Elizabeth" said her ladyship at one point, "and I hate to raise a possibly delicate subject, but has anyone in your family recently taken ill?"

Elizabeth was momentarily stunned by the question. "Not at all, Ma'am. Why do you ask?"

"Dear, me. No reason, I suppose. Just that I had understood country society to be far livelier, and from the look of your mother—who is casting terrified eyes constantly in my direction—and the jaded countenance of Miss Bennet and Mrs. Wickham, I should have conjectured that they had declared a moratorium on lighthearted celebration. Such a disappointment!"

"Ah, but it _is_ a celebration, Lady Matlock!" cried a slightly tap-hackled Bingley in all cheerfulness, having apparently caught the end of her ladyship's statement. "I daresay this particular visit to Pemberley has proved to be among the most agreeable in my life. In fact, I should like to propose a toast." Mr. Bingley rose from his chair, lifting his wineglass in the air. "To our lovely and charming hostess, Mrs. Darcy. I believe the halls of Pemberley are far brighter with her addition to the Darcy family, and that she will ever delight us all with her essence and wit."

"Hear, hear," Col. Fitzwilliam enthusiastically agreed along with most at the table in their own respective fashion, excluding Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, of course, who could scarcely manage a smile. Elizabeth blushed at the unexpected attention before looking upon her husband, who nodded his own endorsement, eyes shining with adoration.

-00-

After dinner, Darcy requested that everyone congregate to the ballroom to sing Christmas carols with Georgiana at the pianoforte. To Mary's surprise, Georgiana cheerfully took her hand and led her over to sit beside her at the instrument.

"We shall take turns, Mary. I shall play the first song if you wish, then you the second, and so on."

"I sincerely believe your abilities are much preferred to mine, Miss Darcy—"

"Enough of that," said Georgiana. "There is no trick to _Oh Come all Ye Faithful_ as we both know. And do not feel self-conscious about your voice, as the whole room shall be singing. Please, Mary! Let us make the room happy! And do call me Georgiana!"

"As a matter of fact, Miss Bennet," said Lady Matlock upon her approaching of the pianoforte quite unexpectedly, "Would _you_ do us all the honor of playing the first song, while I borrow your companion for a few short minutes?"

Mary appeared both stunned and flattered by Lady Matlock's request, and after a moment's hesitation, said, "I would…of course, your ladyship."

"Thank you, Miss Bennet," said her ladyship warmly before saying to Georgiana, "Do come, my dear."

Georgiana cut a bewildered glance at Mary, then proceeded to follow her aunt's lead. As they passed through the ballroom, Lady Matlock beckoned Elizabeth from across the room with a slight, yet graceful wave of her hand to join them. Georgiana was ever in awe of her ladyship's ability to command others with a mere glance and a subtle gesture, _never_ with harsh words. Surely it had taken the countess many years to learn such refinement; and it was difficult for Georgiana to imagine that she herself may one day possess those same abilities. She and Elizabeth were led out of the ballroom and into a darkened and quiet part of the house, no doubt to ensure their privacy. Georgiana was most intrigued by this clandestine meeting, and, judging from her countenance, so was her sister-in-law.

"I shall not keep either of you long, my dear ladies," said her ladyship. "But I feel this is the most opportune time to tell you that I've received a letter from Lady Sefton in response to my petition to have the Patronesses meet and have tea with the new, and most _beloved_, mistress of Pemberley."

As captivated as Georgiana was, she could not help but wonder why on Earth she was included in this discussion of Elizabeth's impending introduction into Society. In truth, she could not even understand why the matter was so crucial. Could they not all just stay together as a family and be forever happy at Pemberley without the runaway on-dit and interference of these so-called Lady Patronesses?

"Upon further consultation," Lady Matlock continued, "the Ladies have agreed to meet Mrs. Darcy in London—"

"_Agreed?_" Georgiana blurted out, most offended by the very idea that those she loved should need the approval of these undoubtedly arrogant felines she could not give two straws about.

"It is most unbecoming to interrupt, my dear," Lady Matlock gently scolded.

Georgiana looked down. "Sorry, Aunt."

"Neither of you may understand all of this entirely, or even at all. I simply ask you to trust me and to _listen_." Both Elizabeth and Georgiana nodded, and Lady Matlock continued. "They have agreed to meet Mrs. Darcy in London upon the condition that I bring the lovely and talented _Miss_ Darcy to delight them all with her gift of music."

Georgiana gasped. _She_ was to be invited, as well?

"You heard me correct, my dear," said her ladyship. "I have been praising your talents for years now—as has the rest of the Fitzwilliam family—and the Ladies desire to know your accomplishments now that your coming-out is so close at hand."

Georgiana knew the appropriate response was to enthusiastically accept such an invitation and to voice what a true honor it is to have such an elite class of women request a private performance; however, she could not help but scowl at the suggestion, prompting Elizabeth to intervene.

"I think Georgiana may be a bit overwhelmed at the idea of playing for such a select audience, Lady Matlock; and I could never ask her to do anything that may bring her discomfort. The choice is hers, and I shall abide by it."

The two ladies looked at Georgiana for her answer. Elizabeth's eyes were kind as usual, while her aunt's powerful stare gave no and yet _every_ indication of the reply that was expected.

"I trust you, Aunt," Georgiana finally said. "And if a recital may help Elizabeth prosper in Society, it is a small request, indeed. And one with which I should happily comply."

"You are a good girl, dear Georgie," said Lady Matlock, now smiling, then said to both ladies, "I shall provide more details in the coming weeks. But for now, let us rejoin the party, for I fear your uncle may be half-sprung by now."

Her ladyship strode away, leaving the two of them alone. "I feel we must put our faith in your aunt's wisdom on the matter, unimportant as it may be to either of us. She only wants what is best for the Darcy family—as do we all; however, if it should make you terribly uneasy—"

"It is as my brother says," said Georgiana decisively. "We cannot always be in every way comfortable, now can we?"

-00-

_Such an_ _embarrassment_, thought Caroline Bingley after Mrs. Darcy most impertinently proposed that Lady Matlock take a seat on the _wrong_ end of the table. _Darcy is certainly by now regretting his choice in a bride, though he hides it well. _

Caroline could not help but think throughout the evening on how much better a mistress _she_ would have made over Eliza, though the visit as a whole was tolerable enough. By the time she heard it mentioned that the woman had actually named the Arabian gifted to her after her own sister, Caroline had come to the unquestionable conclusion that Mrs. Darcy was barking mad and Fitzwilliam Darcy thoroughly dicked in the nob for marrying her. Feeling momentarily generous given the good fortune awaiting her in London, Caroline was tempted to preemptively invite the Darcys to Bedfordshire soon after she becomes Lady Thornhaugh in order to show Eliza the proper way to behave as mistress of a noble estate at least the size of Pemberley; but, in truth, Caroline was eager to be as far away from her hated hostess as possible and begin her new life as a marchioness, bidding good riddance to the savage relations forced upon her. It mattered not that Lord Thornhaugh had yet to make an offer. Caroline knew the day was close at hand, for the week before her departure to Derbyshire, his lordship had called on her at the Hurst's townhouse nearly every day. And never mind the dubious looks of those living under the same roof— namely that fat and bosky Hurst—whenever his lordship came to call; for what did _he_ know of anything other than eating and drinking himself into a stupor? Even her own sister expressed qualms about his lordship even though no evidence whatsoever marked a reason to be suspicious other than the mere fact that he was interested in her. What on Earth should _he_ want with the daughter of a tradesman so relatively new to the World? Thankfully, Lady Eleanor visited often to soothe Caroline's brief bout of melancholy over the lack of domestic support.

"Pure envy, my dear Caroline," her ladyship had said. "Despite what _they_ think, Lord Thornhaugh_ is_ charmed by you, though not ignorant of your ambition to one day become the Duchess of Bedford."

Caroline blushed. "He figured it out quickly, indeed. In fact, on his first visit he laughed and said such pretensions were most unnecessary, for he came to the conclusion soon after meeting me that we should both prove quite useful to each other."

"Of course! He has no doubt of how hard you are willing to work, which was more than he could say about the other ladies in town he carefully read. More than that, has he not also expressed his admiration of your intelligence, your fashionable manners, your accomplishments, your overall _air_—all the qualities you possess most deserving of being called a lady?"

"That he has," said Caroline. "Many times."

Her ladyship nodded. "He, like yourself, recognizes the ill-breeding of those who marry entirely for romantic reasons, for such unsuited couples _never_ do the Beau Monde any credit and, indeed, may ultimately be its downfall."

"I could not agree more," said Caroline.

"Most are not as enlightened as we are, dear Caroline. You must simply ignore the naysayers, for very soon your title alone shall be proof enough that they were wrong."

Caroline smiled in remembrance of Lady Eleanor's comforting words, near giddy at the thought of being called _your ladyship_. At least her brother seemed to support her relationship with the gentleman and had expressed his eagerness to meet Thornhaugh in order to give his blessing to a very likely proposal. There was no pretension at all as she sang Christmas carols in the music room at Pemberley, for she genuinely felt happy for the fact that her future was all but sealed.

-00-

Darcy needed his wife. _Now._ Both Christmas dinner _and_ the celebration that followed went far better than he could have imagined, and Elizabeth had proved herself to be a magnificent, if perhaps an unorthodox, hostess. He had been admiring her beauty all evening, her grace, her spirit of fun, the way she charmed Lord Matlock and everyone else at the table—at least, those who _mattered_. Somehow, some way, Mrs. Bennet and her daughters managed to behave themselves, and—just as Elizabeth had predicted—Lord Matlock did find himself more at ease sitting next to Darcy and Richard. Across from his lordship sat Mr. Bennet, who was quite masterful in the art of conversation, possessing rapier wit, and even made his normally stodgy uncle laugh a few times. Darcy had scarcely found a moment to be near his wife throughout the course of the evening, busy as they both were with their guests, the servants, the gifts, and had indeed become envious of her attention being given to virtually everyone but himself. However, he drank generously, laughed often, and was most pleased when, as everyone began singing Christmas carols, Mr. Bridges and Mrs. Reynolds entered the ballroom by invitation of the master and mistress, followed by the filing in of Pemberley's many servants. Darcy had made mention of this Pemberley tradition to Elizabeth and was thoroughly delighted that she chose to continue the Darcy custom of welcoming the servants into the ballroom for refreshments, singing, and the handing out of gifts. Mrs. Reynolds gave a brief, but heartfelt speech giving many thanks to and for the new Mrs. Darcy, and the servants cheerfully raised their glasses to their beloved mistress in response. Late in the evening, Darcy chose to stride about the ballroom both to calm his rising emotions and to observe all the merriment around him as a result of his wife's labors, which was like a dream realized, for the house was alive with activity for the first time in more than a decade! The no-dancing rule seemed to keep Lydia properly in check, though she did little more than follow Col. Fitzwilliam about the room waiting for him to make a humorous remark. Kitty rarely strayed from Matthew's side, but never behaved inappropriately. Matthew, on the other hand, reminded him of Jane Bennet at the Netherfield ball in that his cousin seemed to welcome Kitty's attentions, but Darcy could see no particular regard in the young man's face. _I shall venture no further opinion on that matter, _thoughtDarcy, and he continued walking. Georgiana was beaming like the brilliant light she was, and Mary Bennet was actually _smiling_ as the two ladies took turns playing Christmas carols at the pianoforte. Darcy did not even mind that Mrs. Bennet, having imbibed her share of wine during and after dinner, relaxed to the point of near becoming once again that woman he remembered from said ball the year before. By that time, near _all_ of the older guests were in their cups—all except for Lady Matlock, who never, _ever_ indulged, principled as the woman was to always walk away from an affair with her self-possession intact. No doubt with the help of all the port consumed, Darcy's heart was full to bursting by four in the morning when the occasion finally drew to a close, for he was convinced the spirits of his ancestors were smiling down upon him as brightly as the heavens were. The horrific thoughts that had plagued him from near the moment Elizabeth became his bride had finally subsided, now replaced with memories that did not haunt him, but filled with him joy—memories of their conversations, their meals together, the many nights of connubial bliss they had shared thus far and now the happy reflection of their first Christmas together.

The earl and countess were among the last of their guests to retire to the room that had been dutifully prepared for them. Just before entering, a top-heavy Lord Matlock approached Elizabeth and reached for her hand. Having only drank a single glass of wine for obvious reasons, Elizabeth nearly laughed at his lordship's attempt to be proper despite the state he was in. She gladly gave Lord Matlock her hand, and he shook it, saying, "Mrs. Darcy, after much deliver…_deliberation_…I have decided to _not_ admonish you for the impropriety of the seating arrangement. You are…you are forgiven.

"That means a great deal to me, your lordship," said Elizabeth with a deep curtsey.

"But when next we dine, you must save me a place by your side, Ma'am. Though I may look like a monster, I assure you I do not bite."

This time Elizabeth did laugh. "Indeed not, sir! And I shall look forward to it! Now do get a restful night's sleep, your lordship—though it is already morning!"

"You are forgiven," Darcy's uncle repeated as disappeared into the bedroom. "Just this once!"

Lady Matlock also shook Elizabeth's hand. "You did quite splendidly, my dear," said her ladyship simply.

"Thank you, Ma'am."

Her ladyship bid them both goodnight and entered the bedroom. After the door shut behind her, Darcy pulled his wife to him and kissed her with all the fervent desire that had heretofore been lying dormant within him. It was many moments before he allowed her to breathe, at which point she said, "Merry Christmas, my love."

He could see she was tired—exhausted, even; however, he was in no condition to make the sacrifice of not having her as soon as possible. All control was lost as he gazed into her shining eyes. In a state of abstraction, he took her by the hand and quickly led her to their own chambers. Thank God it _was_ Christmas and both Anna and Fleming had been dismissed for the night long ago—for at the moment, he could not care less about the possibility of a witness to their passion. Soon as they were safely within, Darcy removed his cravat and tail coat with her help, after which he placed both hands on her face and gently pushed her against the door. As he proceeded to kiss her neck and shoulders, he said roughly, "I have been wanting to tear this dress from you all evening."

"You must not!" whispered Elizabeth, gripping his hair. Darcy was just coherent enough to heed her hoarse plea to not destroy Madame Chantal's masterwork, though he would have gladly had ten more made in its place. She turned her back to him. "The buttons!" she said in a harsh breath, laying her hands flat on the door. Darcy's hands trembled as he loosened one button after another, thereby exposing more and more of her soft, creamy skin. At last, that part of the undressing was finished, and he slid the elegant fabric down her slender body.

_Bah!_ _Blasted corset!_ Darcy forcefully began untying and loosening the stays, jerking his wife in a way he hoped was not too rough, though she did not seem to mind. After far too long, _that_ unnecessary barrier was removed, as well. Elizabeth turned around to face him and began removing his waist coat, followed by the unbuttoning of his shirt and breeches. As she aided in removing what was left of his clothing, Darcy pulled one pin after another from her hair, eventually causing the thick curls to fall about her shoulders. With a sharp exhale, he fell to his knees before her and grasped her by the waist as Elizabeth slid the chemise up over her head and threw it to the floor. Darcy pressed his mouth against her belly and kissed her repeatedly whilst sensuously sliding her garters and stockings from one leg, then the other. He then wrapped her in an all-encompassing embrace, ever savoring the feel of her bare skin against his own; however, such a moment could not last, as his body demanded the kind of fulfillment only hers could bring, and he stood up with her still in his arms. Their lips met in a wild dance with one another, and she wrapped her legs around his waist as he carried her with ease to the bed. The two lovers fell upon the soft mattress, and Darcy buried his hands deep in his wife's hair just before entering her, licking the perspiration from her chest. He was mad with the intensity of his lovemaking, his single thought being how much he needed to be inside her and to hear her call out his name, which she did repeatedly to his profound pleasure. Both reached completion far too quickly, and they fell upon one another in a heap of sweat and tangled limbs. Between ragged breaths, Darcy had just enough strength to kiss his beloved wife gently on her swollen lips as he removed tendrils of damp hair from her face. They stared at one another, and her eyes seemed to comprehend all that he wanted to say, but could not. Finally, it was she who finally spoke in a whisper as she used her dainty fingers to wipe the moisture from his brow.

"With all my heart, sir."


	15. Chapter 14

Col. Fitzwilliam snatched the book right out of his younger brother's hand.

"Steady on!" Matthew cried.

"You _will_ talk! Or by God, I shall toss this blasted thing right out the bloody window!"

Matthew Fitzwilliam made a meager attempt to reclaim his property within the confines of the carriage on its way back to Matlock, but the colonel well knew the lad was no match for him. After only a few moments, Matthew simply gave up and slumped back into his end of the coach in all frustration. "There is nothing to tell!"

"Indeed? A private word with Mr. Bennet not an hour before we set off, and there is _nothing_ to tell?"

"Apparently your definition of _private_ differs from mine, as well as _Johnson's Dictionary_."

"Very well. Speaking of education, let us test Newton's Law."

"_No!"_ Matthew shouted in a panic the second before Richard would have followed through with his threat, then hurriedly said, "Mr. Bennet merely wished to know my intentions toward Miss Catherine—for apparently she had expressed to him the desire to write me a letter with the hopes that we may begin a continuing correspondence."

"I see. And what _are_ your intentions?"

"I shall tell you what I told the gentleman. That I have none."

Fitzwilliam was momentarily stunned before he emphatically replied, "_None_?"

"Clearly you are as shocked as he was. But upon my word it was never my purpose to enter into a romantic relationship with Kitty. Our conversations were pleasant enough. Of course, I respect the young lady and do consider her a friend. But I am far too busy with my schooling to even _think_ about anything beyond that. And I am most certainly in no financial position to entertain the idea of an engagement. I have been working incessantly for the past year at least towards gaining an apprenticeship at the University—Richard, why do you look at me that way?"

Without a word, the colonel abruptly hurled Matthew's book of lore out of the window and into the snow-covered landscape. With a yelp, Matthew reacted quickly by rapping on the roof as an order to stop the carriage in the middle of the road, where upon he swung open the door and set out to locate the book that had landed somewhere amidst a white mass of weeds and brush. Richard shouted during his brother's frantic search, "That is for trifling with a young lady's heart!"

"I did no such thing!"

"You expect me to believe that you are simply such a beef-wit that you gave no thought as to _why_ Miss Bennet conveyed such an avid interest in the collected works of Shakespeare? Or—more to the purpose—how your attentions were affecting the poor girl?"

"_My_ _attentions_?" Matthew continued rummaging through the brush as he shouted back, "I merely obliged the queries of an inquisitive young lady—never in private, mind you—ostensibly limited in her education, who purported an interest in the arts among many other things _not_ inherently suggestive in nature—even Bonaparte and the war! I had no reason to believe such inquiries were a pretense or that in answering them I might be perceived as the girl's suitor!" Matthew finally found the book and proceeded to dust the snow off the cover, delivering a final verbal blow at Richard. "Bastard!"

Fitzwilliam began giving Matthew's argument some actual thought. There had been speculation in the household all week about his brother and Kitty Bennet forming an attachment, but no one ever seemed to pay much attention to their actual discourse so long as it never appeared to veer into what may be deemed unfitting. The colonel could only say with conviction that Miss Bennet appeared acutely attentive to everything Matthew said to her; but if she truly sought to develop her education, could not her equally bookish father have answered her questions with just as much, if not _more_, wisdom on the subjects, rather than a _single_ young man so near her own age? Could the circumstances possibly be a little more complicated than that? Had Fitzwilliam underestimated yet _another_ Bennet daughter in presuming that this one had only been flattering his brother's ego with the hopes to one day gain him as a husband? Could it be that maybe, just maybe, her only intention was to gain a friend? While Richard pondered this, Matthew stepped back into the coach, slamming the door shut, and as he sat back down gave the order to resume their journey.

"You honestly believe her queries were genuine?" Fitzwilliam asked just after they started off again.

Matthew dusted the snow from his overcoat and was still annoyed as he answered, "I gathered no insinuations in her manner beyond that of profound curiosity along with perhaps a trace of loneliness. I admit, Richard, that my understanding of and experience with the fairer sex is limited at best given the single-mindedness of my pursuits, but you must understand this holiday was my _first_ encounter with the lady. Had my first impressions suspected of her a romantic attraction, despite what _you_ may think, dear Brother, I believe myself enough of a gentleman that I should never take advantage of a gentleman's daughter, and therefore would have chosen to avoid her altogether. You might ask yourself why everyone else was so convinced the girl was throwing handkerchiefs in my direction. Or why no one even attempted to ask _me_ at any point throughout the week what my feelings toward her may be, for I am _certain_ no one bothered to ask _her_. Is Miss Bennet's reputation so much that of an infatuated simpleton? Or a calculating flirt? Was an attraction between us _really_ so evident, or typical groundless presumption that never fails to bring damage to innocent people? Indeed, the older I get, the more I am realizing that most people ultimately care not for the facts, but for the narrative. I, however, only seek the _truth_ found only in books—_actual bloody research—_that brings us closer to the answers to life's mysteries. I do not form such hasty conclusions based on…well, _nothing_."

The carriage was filled with heavy silence as Fitzwilliam reflected on everything Matthew had just said. The lad was right. At this very moment, Kitty Bennet was probably being censured by her father for shamelessly "chasing" after an intellectual young man who had no romantic interest in her, and what leg had she to stand on, especially after the behavior of her younger sister? The colonel had always acknowledged the unfairness of society with regards to females, and it was likely Miss Bennet—branded by association—would be perceived as a borderline barque of frailty and Matthew her target. Richard could only hope that Mr. Bennet—given his intelligence—was also a fair and reasonable man.

"Did you at least attempt to absolve her of any wrongdoing?" Richard inquired earnestly.

"I told Mr. Bennet I believed her motives were sincere, never scheming, and that _if_ the young lady has over the length of a sennight formed a serious design on me, I simply do not reciprocate those feelings, and therefore it would be dishonorable to receive her letters. _If_, however, she wished to write to me on purely platonic terms on the subject of history, the arts, philosophy…"

"Which you well know is uncommon and may indeed scandalize the girl should such a friendship become public knowledge." Fitzwilliam did not happen to also mention that the Bennets were on thin ice with public opinion as it was.

"Mr. Bennet felt the same say," replied Matthew. "While I do not see the harm in it at all. But then, of course, I am a beef-wit!" Richard gave Matthew a look of regret for his prior insult as a form of apology, which his brother appeared to accept before he continued. "By the end of the conversation, Mr. Bennet concluded that I was a guileless youth and that he would have a very long conversation with his daughter on the way back to Hertfordshire."

Fitzwilliam nodded with a pang of guilt and worry that this _long_ _conversation_ might entail Mr. Bennet locking his daughter away in a tower for the remainder of her life—not that it was of any consequence to _him_, of course. But the very notion brought to mind Georgiana and just how forlorn girls of that age could be—and _susceptible_! Matthew was certainly no Wickham, but did not Kitty Bennet deserve to prove that she was no Lydia? Must an interest in a particular gentleman equal a passion for him, as well?

"And what of Mary Bennet?" The colonel asked after several meditative minutes.

"What of her?"

"Well, you were speaking of first impressions, which—so I've heard—can make or mar one's opinion of another. I should have thought you and the elder Miss Bennet would have got on quite nicely given your mutual penchant for seeking _answers_ apparently only found in your respective volumes."

Matthew thought on this for several moments as though he were working out a mathematical theorem in his head. Finally, he answered, "My first impression of Miss Mary was that of intrigue, like discovering a porcupine in the wood—a creature I should like to know better, but am instantly warned to keep a proper distance. Self-righteous, to be sure, yet perceivably low on self-worth. How can the two coexist, I wonder?" Matthew then shrugged. "But I suppose it is neither here nor there. The holiday is done; I shall keep to my path, and the Bennet sisters to theirs."

"You never know, Matty," said Richard. "Your paths may cross again sooner than you think. Perhaps even by accident…much like Mr. and Mrs. Darcy."

Matthew quoted, "_There is no such thing as accident; it is fate misnamed_."

"Aurelius?" Richard wondered aloud.

"Bonaparte."


	16. Chapter 15

"Mrs. Bennet, I assure you it is immaterial to me whether your daughter should provide an heir this year or ten years from now!" Darcy said to Mrs. Bennet in a tone he _hoped_ translated to his insufferable mother-in-law that his forbearance was hanging by a thread; but as self-awareness was never Mrs. Bennet's strong suit, the woman continued harping on the subject.

"Oh, dear Mr. Darcy! Your patience does you credit, sir; but please do not think even for a second that it may take Lizzy a full decade to become with child! And do not think, because Mr. Bennet and I never had a son, that your wife is in some way stunted—"

"Mrs. Bennet!" Darcy was so very close to losing his temper entirely that he had to halt in mid-stride and re-gather the wits Mrs. Bennet's nonsensical ravings had all but trampled upon. The carriage was being loaded and the Bennet family was mere minutes away from setting back off to Hertfordshire. Elizabeth had decided to take a final walk that morning with her sisters, leaving Darcy at the mercy of her mother, who approached him in her usual frenzied manner before he could make a run for one of his hiding places. She then spent the next five minutes on the possible reasons why her daughter was not yet pregnant and what a wonderful, tolerant husband he was not to be cross on the matter.

"Mrs. Bennet," repeated Darcy after taking a moment to remember himself. "This _matter_ is between myself and my wife. Your concerns and your counsel are not needed." Darcy knew he should have left it there, but vainly continued as if to assuage whatever worries Elizabeth herself might have. "Furthermore, we have only been married for seven weeks. Married couples have been known to take _far_ more time than that to conceive, I daresay. In any case, I should appreciate it if you might respect mine and your daughter's _privacy_ on the subject." _And all subjects!_ Darcy wanted to shout.

"It shall be as you say, Mr. Darcy," said Mrs. Bennet, but before Darcy could breathe a sigh of relief, the woman blurted out, "But please allow me, sir, to offer one, just _one_ word of advice with regards to the birth of your children should I not be in Derbyshire at the time of Lizzy's eventual confinement."

_Bloody right, you shan't! _Darcy's mind roared, but he instead responded calmly, "Very well, Madam."

Mrs. Bennet said simply, "Cleanliness."

Darcy pinched the furrow in his brow in an attempt to make some sense out of his mother-in-law's _advice_. "Cleanliness?"

The woman nodded vigorously. "Oh, indeed, sir! It is of the utmost importance that Lizzy gives birth under the most sanitary of conditions! I nearly succumbed to fever after the birth of our dear Jane and lived in dreadful fear after that of becoming with child again only to have either or both of us suffer a much worse fate…"

Darcy could not imagine a more improper conversation to have with _anyone_ not a midwife or medical professional, far less his hysterical mother-in-law; and, with every fiber of his being, he wished to walk away from Mrs. Bennet midway through her blather. For Elizabeth's sake, however, he decided to remain still with as much dignity as possible and wait patiently for the woman to finish, at the very least thankful she would be gone from his home before long and for the duration.

"…Therefore, I set out to learn as much as I possibly could on the safest possible means of birthing a child! I spoke to physicians, midwives, all sorts of so-called _experts_ on the subject, only to finally reach my own conclusion by way of keen observation and deduction! Now, listen—you must aerate the room, Mr. Darcy! No blankets, no fires, but open windows! The linens must be clean and the midwife freshly bathed! Any and all utensils—_sterilized_! Most think me mad for speaking my mind on this issue so passionately, but I have been party to far too many births in repugnant environments with tragic results, whereas I, myself, have born _four_ _more_ hale and hearty daughters by utilizing this method whilst maintaining my own healthy constitution; and I could not leave these grounds, Mr. Darcy, without knowing that I had done my due diligence in seeing to it that the Darcy children are born in fine fettle!"

"_Thank you_, Mrs. Bennet," declared Darcy, who had only been half-listening; for during Mrs. Bennet's diatribe, he had noticed Bingley approaching the two of them, and he did not want his friend to overhear such mortifying discourse, though undoubtedly the man had endured more than his fair share under his own roof. "I shall give your recommendations due consideration," Darcy said as Bingley drew near.

"I hope I am not interrupting, Darcy. Mrs. Bennet," Bingley said contritely with a short bow, "may I borrow your son-in-law for a moment or two?"

Darcy did not give the woman time to answer. "Of course! I am at your service, Bingley! Please excuse us, Mrs. Bennet. And if I do not see you again, may you and your family have a safe journey home."

"You are very kind, sir" said Mrs. Bennet with a curtsey.

Darcy strode away with Bingley at a fast pace. "Thank God you appeared, Bingley. Whatever you need of me at this moment, I am in full vein to hand it over. Would you like Pemberley?"

Bingley said with a snigger, "That won't be necessary, Darce. Actually I was wondering where I might find Lord Matlock. I understand he and your aunt are still on the grounds, but I cannot seem to locate his lordship anywhere. Do you have an idea of where he might be?"

Darcy thought for a moment. "If the memories of my youth serve a purpose, I should say he is in a darkened part of the house recovering from the evening before. The drawing room, perhaps? That is where I keep my best cigars."

Darcy accompanied Bingley to the drawing room where, as estimated, Lord Matlock was lounging in an armchair facing away from them, enjoying a smoke in silent solitude before his and Lady Matlock's journey back to Brassington Manor. Thin beams of sunlight were only barely peeking in through the mostly drawn curtains.

"Ah, what did I tell you? Well, I'll leave you to it, Bingley. Speak softly," Darcy lightly advised and was about to walk away before Bingley halted him.

"Do stay, Darcy," he said in a whisper. "I may need your assistance in this matter, and I must confess your uncle makes me a bit nervous."

Darcy agreed, a bit befuddled but now curious as to the nature of this discussion. The two men slowly entered the room, and Bingley cleared his throat to get his lordship's attention.

"Yes?" Lord Matlock grumbled.

"Do forgive the intrusion, your lordship," said Bingley timidly, "But might I have a brief word with you on a…particular matter?"

"What sort of matter, Mr. Bingley?" He responded as Bingley and Darcy came around to face him. "Nephew," he acknowledged, then after a pause said, "Discuss with me whatever, gentlemen; but do have a care as I am a bit...indisposed at the moment."

"Did you have Mrs. Reynolds mix you a tonic, Uncle?" Darcy asked.

The earl raised the glass of dark liquid in his hand. "The mother of home remedies."

The room was silent as Bingley gathered his courage, and finally he came out with it. "I say, Lord Matlock, you are familiar with the Russell family of Bedfordshire, are you not?"

Darcy's interest elevated upon the realization that Bingley meant to gather whatever information he possibly could on Caroline's suitor before meeting him in London. Indeed, Darcy was impressed that Bingley before himself had even thought to query his uncle.

"Lord Bedford?" Matlock replied. "Of course! One of those blasted, Whig Party…nonsense…supporters." He took a sip of his tonic as he gently massaged his aching forehead.

"I can see you are unwell, your lordship," said Bingley uneasily. "We could postpone this conversation for a later time—"

"Except of course you shall be departing shortly for Matlock, Uncle," interrupted Darcy. "Therefore, do continue, Bingley."

"Right," Bingley affirmed before once again clearing his throat. "I inquire, sir, what you may know of his eldest son, Marquess Thornhaugh."

"Ah, you speak of Malcolm," Matlock answered without hesitation. "Good Lord, I've not heard that young man's name for more than ten years."

Darcy and Bingley exchanged glances. "So you are acquainted with the gentleman, sir?" Bingley asked.

"Not myself so much as my own eldest."

"_Stephen?_" Darcy emphatically confirmed. "Stephen knows the man?"

His lordship nodded. "Back in their Cambridge days, Stephen and Malcolm were thick as thieves, engaging in all sorts of mischief, which very nearly got them _both_ expelled but for their connections." He glanced at Darcy. "It is a part of your cousin's past we neither of us are proud of. Indeed, were it not so long ago, I should loath to mention it at all."

Bingley took a deep breath, the lines of worry visible on his face. "What sorts of mischief, if you don't mind my asking, sir?"

"Why is it you wish to know, Mr. Bingley?"

"Because Lord Thornhaugh is now courting my sister, sir."

"Ah, so that is the 'his lordship' Miss Bingley spoke of so fondly at Christmas dinner," said Matlock. "She seemed quite content. Perhaps Malcolm has recovered from his vices."

"What _vices_, sir?" Bingley pressed.

"Excessive gambling, mostly," said Matlock. "Charismatic young man, as I recall—almost wickedly clever—and he would often invite my son among other impressionable young men to accompany him to the gaming hells, where of course heavy drinking and other forms of debauchery would ensue, especially at the lower-run clubs. Before long, the lads found themselves on probation at the University on the grounds of conduct unbecoming of a gentleman. I know not what became of Thornhaugh after that, but Stephen smartened up straightaway. Amazing how quickly a man will atone for his sins when the bulk of his inheritance is threatened. I only wish I could have renounced his title at that moment and handed it over to Richard, who quite frankly has always been the better man…"

Darcy winced at this remark, knowing how much Richard should wish to hear such an admission from his father's lips, but likely never would.

"…A politician of Lord Bedford's distinction at the time would have had even more to lose over his son's roguery, and therefore I imagine he administered a similar form of discipline, for I never heard tale of Thornhaugh's hijinks again."

"I see," said Bingley, apparently still taking in all the information just given to him. "And do _you_ find that his rank in the _ton_ alone is cause for me to be suspicious of the gentleman's motives, considering my sister's…relatively inferior birth?"

Darcy sensed how difficult it was for Bingley to demean his own family in such a way; but the man in understanding to whom he spoke opted wisely to speak a language the earl would appreciate—even if Bingley himself did not. In his answer, Lord Matlock did not mince words.

"My own nephew _not_ of the peerage is one thing, Mr. Bingley. A gentleman who stands to inherit a dukedom in Bedfordshire is quite another. Three months ago, I'd have said you were a fool _not_ to be on your guard, sir. But then again…" The earl glanced at Darcy. "…I have seen the error in making presumptions." Massaging his head again, the earl asked, "Is there anything else, gentlemen?"

"No, sir," said Bingley with a bow. "I thank you for your time and intelligence."

Darcy walked out with Bingley, whose countenance suggested the weight of the world upon his shoulders. "I must go to London," Bingley said. "I must meet this Thornhaugh immediately, find out what he's about…"

Darcy matched his friend's determined pace with his own. "Charles, if there is any way I can be of assistance in this matter…"

"Will you speak to your cousin? About Thornhaugh?"

_Blast!_ Darcy could not hide his trepidation to satisfy such a request. "Stephen and I do _not_ get on, Bingley. Indeed, I nearly called the man out a month ago! He is coxcomb of the highest order—"

"He may know something your uncle does not. He may know _everything_!"

"Or nothing."

"Please, Darcy. I know Caroline can be intolerably rude, but—"

"Do give me a little more credit than that, Charles, and remember that I too have a sister!" With that statement, Darcy's mind was set. "Very well. I shall attempt to speak to my cousin, though I cannot promise he will speak to _me_—"

"Ah, thank you, my friend!" Bingley enthusiastically shook Darcy's hand. "That is all I ask!"

"But you must allow time for the waters to calm between Stephen and I. Should I ride off to Matlock this very moment, he would offer me nothing but the cut direct. In the meantime, collect as much information as possible while in London. The hells along St. James's would likely know him as Thornhaugh, while he may simply answer to Mr. Russell or even Mr. Malcolm in other houses."

"You seem awful convinced this man is a sharper."

Even Darcy had to admit his perception of Thornhaugh was skewed due to his dealings with Wickham and the years of trickery that has thus far enabled the man, at great moral and financial cost, to both avoid penance and even raise his station in life. Blackguards like Wickham did nothing without a thought to further their own self-interests; but was it fair to automatically place Thornhaugh in such a category of scoundrel while still knowing so very little about him?

"My uncle was correct about the fault in making presumptions," said Darcy. "However, as it pertains to Thornhaugh, I should not consider such speculations to be presumption, but rather reasonable uncertainties that _require_ further investigation to avoid possible catastrophe."

"In which case," said Bingley, "I feel time is of the essence, as an engagement between them seems most imminent. I must delay it somehow."

"A charge I do not envy you, given Caroline's obstinacy and ambition," said Darcy. "But if you can manage it, I shall meet up with you in London by mid-season."

Bingley seemed content with this plan of action and set off to further arrange for his and Mrs. Bingley's departure. Darcy, meanwhile, sought to find sanctuary in his study in order to gather his thoughts. As he sat at his desk, another bout of anxiety was initiating at the notion of not only consulting with Stephen, who was sure to be difficult, but at the inevitability of enlisting Wickham's assistance in the matter, who was currently—_hopefully_—in Newcastle nursing a bruised jaw and cranium to go with his battered ego. No man understood the gambling hells better than George Wickham; and if Thornhaugh these last ten years was still thoroughly entrenched in his vice, Darcy was convinced that Wickham could provide a good deal more intelligence than even his cousin. For a price, of course.

He pounded his fist into the desk. Was he _never_ to get shut of this man?

Darcy took a deep breath to calm himself, then prepared a fresh sheet of paper in order to dash off a quick letter to be sent with Mrs. Annesley, who would be accompanying Lydia on her journey home. With any luck and given the right _phrasing_, Wickham would respond in a timely manner. Much as Darcy hated it, this coming London season was simply unavoidable, as the Thornhaugh situation—along with Elizabeth and Georgiana's forthcoming meeting with the Lady Patronesses that may very well lead to the planning of a ball at Almack's by summer—surely meant the next six months would be the most trying his already limited patience had ever endured.


End file.
